


To Defend the People to the Utmost of Your Power

by Divine_Knight



Series: Subcon Forest [1]
Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: A bit of self-blaming because of what happened to the children, Also plenty of adorable moments, Also the explosive fruit, Also the spiders and statues are here, Angst, Comfort, Dadtcher, Domestic Violence, Don't lay a hand on his kids or he'll kill you, Gen, Grief, Horror, I legitimately don't know what all I need, Massive guilt, May add more to this later on, Snatcher is still just a big dad to The Dwellers and his minions when no one is in the forest, Snatcher realizes how horrible Vanessa truly is, Some people get frozen, Teeny bit of violence, Tell me if there are any tags I missed, just a smidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 204,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Divine_Knight/pseuds/Divine_Knight
Summary: After his death at the hands of his ex-fiancée, the former Prince of Subcon Forest has tasked himself with taking care of the ghosts of his former kingdom. On top of that, he also has to figure out how to protect a kingdom of ghosts while he, himself, is one.It's a learning experience.
Relationships: None
Series: Subcon Forest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003608
Comments: 186
Kudos: 152





	1. The Birth of The Snatcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realization and an oath.

The former prince stared at what was once his lovely queen, now transformed into a horrifying, unrecognizable, shadowy monster. So unrecognizable that, for a brief moment, he had almost hoped that the form before him wasn't his beloved. But the moment he uttered a fearful “Vanessa” without meaning to, the prince received an immediate answer to his question, and all doubts he had were shattered completely.

Red, glowing eyes glared at him the moment the monster heard his utterance, turning to him to reveal what appeared to be a mass of ice she was resting her hand upon. As he gazed between Vanessa and the icy mass, he registered what it was that she clutched in her blackened hand.

The frozen shoulder of one of the servants. One of her subjects. _THEIR subjects._

Memories came back, blurred and faint, but without a doubt _real._

Chained to the cellar wall, starved, parched, freezing, his tears falling to the floor below...

... Faint screaming from somewhere, not just from inside the manor, but... _outside,_ as well...

The prince felt something twist in his nonexistent stomach.

"Vanessa, what have you done to the kingdom? To the people? _The children!?"_

Vanessa screamed at him in rage, her body lurching towards the now ghostly-prince as he tried to reach out to his former love. He _had_ to do something. Snap her out of _whatever_ spell she was under! The Vanessa he knew would _never_ have hurt their subjects. Clearly she must have been bewitched, put under some kind curse!

"Vanessa, listen to me, please!"

Vanessa screeched even louder, a long, clawed, darkness-covered arm stretching out as she tried to grab at him. The ghost flew back, startled by the violent action Vanessa was taking with him. Vanessa would _never_ have hurt him! Sure, she _may_ have been a bit harsh and demanding from time to time, and a _bit_ irrational, and she _may_ have cut and dyed his hair without his consent that one time, but... she would _never,_ in her right mind, hurt him! He had to snap her out of this trance!

"Vanessa, _please!_ VANESSA!"

_"HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY HOME!"_ Vanessa yelled, her voice holding deep, malicious, twisted intent as she stood over the prince. For some reason, she didn't recognize her own love. How couldn't she? She had come down that one time when he had broken free from the wall, and chained him up again with even _more_ chains-

The ghost's glowing yellow eyes widened as the realization hit him. She wasn't under a spell; this WAS Vanessa. Her feelings, her desires, her anger, _her murderous intent._ The person he once loved... _was a monster this whole time, just waiting to be unleashed._

Another thought struck him; he had already noted that the servant Vanessa had been clutching was frozen, but if they were frozen, then that meant it was likely that _all_ of the servants were frozen. And if she went to the village- if she hadn't, already...

He had to do something to stop her, before she could do any more harm...!

It was in that moment that the ghostly prince spied a key and padlock on the floor. His eyes darted from the cellar door, to the front door, then back to the padlock and key. Within seconds, the ghostly prince hatched a plan; a crazy one, but one that he had to make work, if he had any hope of protecting the rest of the forest from Vanessa. As quickly as he could, the ghost snatched the padlock and key from the floor and ran for the double front doors.

_"COME BACK HERE!!!"_ Vanessa roared, dashing after the ghost. But she was too late; the prince, having made his way outside, rammed himself into a post hard enough to cause a large pile of snow to fall in front of the doors, blocking one of Vanessa's exits from her manor. In reality, he had _hoped_ to knock down the post in front of the door and let the ensuing rubble take care of blocking off the doors, but a giant snow pile worked, too.

The queen screeched in fury and clawed at the doors, while the ghost paused for a moment as he registered the frozen landscape around him. Vanessa's wrath had turned the manor's grounds... into a sealed, frozen, winter nightmare-

No! He couldn't dwell on that, right now! He still had one more exit to seal up! The ghost rushed through the snow and around to the back of the manor, aiming for the only other way out of the manor. Soon spotting the cellar doors, he tried to find a way to lock them with the padlock, but quickly realized the padlock was too big to fit.

"No, _no-!"_ he uttered in horror. How was he supposed to keep Vanessa from escaping and causing even _more_ damage? The only other door he could lock was in the cellar-

The cellar. Where he died. Where Vanessa had left him to die. Despite the gruesome thought, the prince _knew_ what he had to do. Gritting his teeth as he threw the cellar doors open, the ghost ran back into the place where he had formerly been imprisoned. The water around him splashed violently as the prince darted towards the door that led up into the manor.

He could hear the footsteps upstairs, rushing for the door he was heading towards. _He had to act quickly!_ Launching himself at the door, the ghost hung the padlock in place and locked it tight.

_And not a moment too soon._

The ghost felt Vanessa's body ram into the door, roaring in anger at her only other exit being locked up tight. Startled, the prince backed away, afraid that the door might not survive against the monstrous queen's assault. If the door or the lock gave in, _nothing_ would be able to stop Vanessa from rampaging through the forest, her ice consuming _everything_ around her.

But lo and behold, the door held strong, and so did the lock. All of a sudden, the weight of all that had happened finally hit the ghostly prince. Vanessa left him to _die,_ to _freeze_ to death in this cellar, chained to a wall. All because he went to buy her some flowers...?

Tears streamed down the prince's face as he raced from the door, throwing the key to the lock into some deeper part of the cellar. As soon as he felt the sharp cold of the land outside of the manor's walls, the ghost slammed the cellar doors shut and ran as far from the forsaken place as he could.

* * *

Eventually, he found himself in what was once the village, and the sight that greeted him brought the former prince to his knees. A cold more chilling than the air around him penetrated his nonexistent heart, piercing him more deeply than any potential icicle could _ever_ hope to. Buildings impaled with giant shards of magic ice, the landscape frozen over, everything in ruins, the ground blanketed with thick layers of snow, and the people...

_Gone. All gone. Nowhere to be seen._

The odds that they survived the Queen's onslaught were slim. If _anyone_ survived, they most likely would have fled to the other parts of the forest. Parts that _hadn't_ been frozen over. He could only hope that at least _some_ of their subjects had escaped Vanessa's wrath and fled to the safety of warmer areas.

He hoped the children were safe. They must be terrified, cold, and hungry.

_Like he had been._

Were they crying for him? Wondering where their prince was to protect them and keep them safe...? How traumatized they must be, having witnessed Vanessa's terrifying power destroy their homes. They may _never_ recover from the icy horrors that Vanessa subjected their kingdom to...

Bloodcurdling screams echoed through his head, conjured up by his imagination as it created images of the children fleeing from their homes while a raging, icy storm blasted through the village. The thoughts of the children being caught up in the madness, the possibility that the children may not have _survived-_

Slumping to the ground, the former prince of Subcon Forest hugged himself and wept, his pain echoing throughout the empty, frozen settlement.

"Why, Vanessa? Why would you do this to me? _To our subjects? The children? Why?_ **WHY!?"**

All that the former prince could do was cry and sob and mourn all that was lost, all who had died, all that was gone... _All taken away in one fell swoop of Vanessa's hands._

How dare she...?

  
  


...

  
  


_How DARE she do this to her kingdom? Her people? Her prince!?_ How dare she freeze their people's homes, ruin their entire kingdom, and leave her prince chained to a cellar wall for him to freeze to death!?

... No. He was _not_ her prince, anymore. He was THE prince of Subcon Forest. He didn't belong to her, anymore. And this wasn't _her_ kingdom anymore, either! And these weren't _her_ people! She **forfeited** the right to rule over Subcon the moment she _**ravaged everything with ice!**_

The ghost rose up, anger settling painfully in his ghostly form. His yellow eyes narrowed as his fanged, glowing mouth opened wide for him to scream to the heavens.

  
  


**"How** **_dare_ she do this to MY kingdom? To MY subjects!? To _ME!?"_**

  
  


Immediately after the outraged words escaped him, the ghost released an enraged growl that made the forest itself shudder. His unbridled fury and newfound hatred of his now _ex_ -fiancée was palpable; his very being let off an energy so powerful that it startled even the former prince, himself. But at the same time, it made him feel strong. _Powerful._ Perhaps powerful enough to keep the former queen trapped inside her own manor- and her horrific magic- at bay.

... The queen- no, the **monster** that killed him, who had _dared_ to hurt his kingdom, his people...

_His subjects..._

Tears cascaded down his darkened purple face as he made his decision.

_This was HIS kingdom, now. And he would make sure that she would **never** bring terror to it or his subjects _ **ever again.**

First things first, however, he needed to _find_ his subjects. Rising into the air, Subcon's prince flew over the broken bridge that led into the other parts of the forest. He prayed that his subjects were okay. Most of all, however, he hoped that the children had been spared from the frigid onslaught his ex-fiancée had created.


	2. Subcon's Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise made.

Hours felt like they had passed by, for the prince, as he searched through the forest beyond the bridge. Much to his dismay and horror, he had found the forest in a state of decay; the trees were almost bare, save some patches of red leaves here and there, and the entire forest held a macabre air. Despair was all around, and it was enough to make the ghost almost collapse to the ground. But he steeled his nerves and forced himself to fly all throughout the forest, searching everywhere for his missing subjects.

His search, however, proved fruitless. He couldn't find _any_ sign of his people.

Exhausted, the ghost stopped on one of the paths in the forest, and lowered himself to the ground to rest.

The rattling of chains brought the deceased prince's attention to his tail. The ball and chain that Vanessa had attached to one of his legs- something she had done after his first escape from his restraints- somehow had remained attached to him _long_ after his legs had morphed into a ghostly tail. Looking himself over, he suddenly became aware of various remnants of his former restraints hanging off of him. Reminders of what Vanessa had _done_ to him...

Rage filled him once more as he _tore_ the ball and chain off of his tail, flinging it away as far as he could. He didn't want to see these _accursed chains_ anywhere near him. He didn't want any reminder of _her_ on him! After what she did to him, to _everyone,_ he couldn't stand the thought of _her_ still having some hold on him!

The prince threw off more and more of the chains, hurtling them as far as he possibly could. Tears filled his eyes once more as he tossed away the last of the chains, screaming at the top of his lungs as he did so.

**“How could you do this to me, Vanessa!? How could you hurt our kingdom so? How could you do this? _Why_ did you do this? WHY? _WHY!?”_**

The ghost yelled as he let out every bit of anger that filled his very soul. By the time he was done, he was heaving and wheezing with every breath; he didn't _need_ to breathe anymore, but he still _felt_ like he needed to. It was like a memory, a force of habit. Perhaps it was a faint, lingering hope that he was still alive, somehow.

But he knew better. He _knew_ he was dead. He couldn't change that. He couldn't reverse what Vanessa had done. This was _real._ This was his life- well, _afterlife,_ now. There was **nothing** he could do about it.

Reaching up to hold his head, the ghost felt something cold and metallic where there should have only been his head. Confusion took hold of him as he plucked the object off and looked at it closely.

A silver crown. But... he had already picked up his own golden crown from the floor of the cellar, before he had gone upstairs to see Vanessa. Had she... put this crown on his head? This new crown? Was this meant for him? Something to remind him of the former Queen...?

 _Something to remind him of his murderer? The person who_ **killed him? Who chained him to a wall and** _ **left him for dead?**_

Clenching the crown tightly in his hand, the ghost let out a final, frustrated roar as he threw the silver crown into the trees as hard as he possibly could. He didn't want _anything_ from **her.** He was the prince of Subcon; he had his _own_ crown, and he wouldn't let any bit of Vanessa control his life- his _afterlife_ any longer! The very thought that she would try to replace his crown- the symbol of his _right_ to rule over the kingdom- with that cheap, hollow replacement **aggravated** the ghostly prince to no end!

The only thing that enraged him _more_ than that was the fact that after escaping from that horrible manor, Vanessa was _still_ trying to claim him as her prince in some way! He was not _her_ prince, anymore. He would **never** be her prince **ever again!** He belonged to **no one!** He served his subjects only, and **no one else!**

His subjects... His poor subjects... He couldn't be like this, when he found them. They needed a prince with a level head, one who could think clearly to help them in their time of need. He needed to calm down!

As the last of his anger began to die, the ghost tried to compose himself. He had to remain calm, for the sake of his subjects. Wherever they were...

Suddenly, the ghost noticed something out of the corner of his glowing eyes. Something had moved behind a tree- no, wait, something was _running_ from him. Squinting, he _swore_ he could have made out some kind of mask; it seemed familiar, somehow...

  
  


_The masks the children wore._

_One of the children!_   
  
  
  


**“Wait!”** he cried, reaching out to the child. **“Child, come back!”**

The child, however, had no intention of stopping. Instead, they seemed to silently dart from tree to tree, furthering the distance between themselves and the ghost. The prince, panicked and concerned for the child's safety, shot after them. If this child was alive, then the other children must be alive, as well! There must have been people that survived!

**“Please, come back!”** he pleaded, forcing himself to fly as fast as he could. **“I will not hurt you! _Come back!”_**  
  
  


Despite the prince's pleas, the child fled from him until they reached one of the stone towers some ways away from the path. In the blink of an eye, the child had darted inside of the structure.

The prince slowed to a stop. Had the child taken refuge in this tower after everything was frozen? Were there others inside? He had to find out; they were _his_ subjects, and it was his duty to keep them safe!

Moving tentatively so as not to startle anyone inside, the ghost entered the tower, his glowing eyes scanning the interior for the child he saw. **“Hello? Is anyone there?”** he called out, gradually moving from one part of the tower to the other as he searched for any sign of life. His question went unanswered, however, and so the prince resumed his search for any sign of life. With his new size, the tower seemed so much... _smaller._ Easier to look through, yes, but it also proved difficult for him to check smaller spaces that a child might hide in. Although, even when he managed to peek into such hiding spots, his efforts yielded _nothing_ in terms of people.

Just when the prince started to think that he was searching for naught, and that _maybe_ his mind had played a trick on him, the former prince's gaze locked onto a sight that not only proved otherwise, but also instantly flooded his ghostly form with relief.

In a darkened part of the tower, mostly hidden from view by the shadows, the prince spied a large group of shivering masks, all huddled together. Though he couldn't discern any _major_ details, the glowing eyes from the masks illuminated them enough to let the former prince recognize that they were, indeed, wearing masks; masks that were commonly found in the kingdom of Subcon. There was no doubt in the ghost's mind. They were the _children,_ and they were okay!

  
  


**“Children?”**

  
  


The group of children huddled closer together, staring fearfully at the gigantic ghost floating before them. Not a single one made a sound. The children moved back further into the shadows, quivering as they all moved closer to the floor in an attempt to appear smaller.

The prince tried to smile reassuringly at the children, though the glowing, fanged smile only made them retreat further into the shadows. He was _well_ aware of what he looked like, now; what little light and ice had been in the cellar had allowed him to glimpse parts of his new reflection. He could only imagine how _terrifying_ he must look to the little ones before him!

**“Do not be afraid, children,”** he reassured them, holding his hands up in a gesture he hoped was non-threatening. **“It is only me!”**

The children only inched further away from the former prince each time he approached, shuddering at the sight of his strange form. The prince couldn't blame them; he had certainly been terrified to see _himself_ in such a state! But seeing the children so fearful of him, wary and frightened as they flinched and hid themselves further in the shadows... He _knew_ they had to have seen the village be consumed by ice; some of them might even have been _injured_ while they escaped! That was the _only_ explanation as to why they were so meek and nervous.

  
  


It pained him _deeply_ to see the children behave like this. It was like he was being _stabbed_ through the heart with a jagged, splintering knife.

  
  


Nonetheless, the prince put on the friendliest, gentlest face he could and held a hand to his chest.

**“I will not hurt you, children,”** he reassured them, holding his other hand out to them. **“I know I may _look_ different, but I am still the prince, and your prince would _never hurt you,_ little ones.”**

A couple of masks perked up, and the prince recognized their owners immediately. He knew _all_ of the children in the kingdom by name, and by the masks they wore; what ruler _wouldn't_ take the time to get to know each of his subjects, after all? And the children were so unique and yet all filled with such life and joy, that even if he had lived to be old and gray- something that was now impossible- he would _still_ remember each child's name and personality easily. With the possibility that two of the children had realized who he was, the prince smiled as joyfully as he could, doing his best to give the children some sense of safety despite his glowing, fanged mouth.

**“Susan? Anthony? Surely you two recognize me, right?”** he asked the two children, hope filling his being.

The two masks trembled more, tears falling from their eyes as they left the shadows.

The prince's eyes widened in horror, and his smile vanished in an instant.

  
  


The masks were attached to small forms that were similar to his own, minus the arms and mane that went all around his neck. They looked foreign; otherworldly and unnatural, almost entirely _unrecognizable_ from how they were in life. But the way they shook and cried as they approached him, and- though he didn't know how or why he could tell this- the fear that emanated from their forms left no doubt in the ghost's mind.

They were the children from his kingdom.

_They were Subcon's children._

His eyes adjusted to the dark in the tower, and soon he saw that all of the other masked children were in the same state as the two approaching him. The very sight hit him like a truck.

  
  


The children, they were...

  
  


_Dead._

  
  


He slowly fell to the floor- what could be considered him falling to his knees, given his state- as he gazed at the ghostly children before him. His nonexistent heart twisted violently in his chest at the sight of the children of his kingdom.

_They were_ **dead.** Because of _her._ Because of _Vanessa._ Vanessa _killed_ them, and he couldn't do _anything_ to stop her. She **killed** them while he was chained in the cellar.

The very thought of the children succumbing to Vanessa's ice and the sheer cold- of them being frozen, their last moments of fear forever preserved by the former Queen's frigid magic- wracked him with grief and guilt. _He couldn't help them when they needed him the most,_ and now they were **dead...**

**“Oh, children... I... I am so sorry... If only I had done something, _anything-”_**

A lump formed in the ghost's throat, cutting him off in an instant. Tears welled up in his glowing eyes as a hand flew up to his mouth. His being shook with silent sobs. They didn't deserve this! They didn't deserve to die! Not so young, and definitely _not_ by Vanessa's chilling hands! How could she do this to the children!? How could she harm _innocent children!?_

The other children approached from the shadows, some of them trembling as though they were about to fall straight onto the ground. All of them were clearly traumatized, shivering from a cold they should no longer have felt, and quivering from the tears filling their eyes. They all stared at the deceased prince for what felt like ages...

One of the ghostly children shook violently, as though they were starting to bawl.

The sight of the children so hurt and scared, crying and shaking, snapped the prince out of his thoughts. It was in that moment that the prince realized something: he couldn't let his despair show. The children needed someone to comfort them, someone to make everything all better. They needed someone to tell them that everything would be okay. Someone to keep them safe from whatever might scare them, and protect them from their perceived monsters. Someone that would wipe away their tears with a smile and tell them that they're safe; that nothing will hurt them.

  
  


They needed someone to guide them.

They needed a ruler.

They needed _him._

  
  


The prince composed himself, and slowly held out his arms. The twitching child flew towards him and pressed their shaking form against him, weeping silently into his chest. The rest of the children let out their anguished, quiet tears, and followed the first child's lead. Within seconds, the deceased prince's arms were wrapped around the entire group of children, and he held them all as close to himself as possible.

He couldn't protect them from death. His very heart twisted more and more at the thought of the children feeling the cold embrace of death, of them _suffering_ at Vanessa's much colder hands. Freezing, frightened, everything around them slowly succumbing to the creeping chill of ice and snow as they, too, became part of the frozen landscape... Internally, his guilt tore at him like a rabid animal.

Yet, as he hugged the children of his kingdom close, he felt a sudden strength inside of him. Determination. A desire to protect. Even if he couldn't protect them from _death,_ he _could_ protect them in their afterlives. It would be difficult, but the prince was _determined_ to protect these children, **no matter the cost.**

The prince held back his grief and tears for the sake of the children in his arms, and instead took on the role of a strong, reassuring figure. Small shushing sounds soon came from him as he gently rocked the ghostly children, petting their heads the best he could with his talon-like fingers. Each child seemed to hiccup, their wailing evident even though no sound came from them at all. As the ghost tried to quell their sobbing with comfort, the children pushed themselves closer and closer to the prince, trying to bury themselves into his chest the best they could.

The prince put on a gentle smile and lowered his head to rest on top of theirs. His movements were careful as he rested himself against the tower's wall, his tail winding its way around the tower's floor. His hold on the children stayed strong, not letting a single child go for even a second. The children shuddered and burrowed themselves further against him, sheltered in the arms of the one who made them all feel safe. The ghostly prince spoke, his voice steadying into a soft, soothing tone, yet one filled with strength and certainty.

**“There, there... everything is going to be okay, children,”** he promised the little ones still crying in his arms, **“I will protect you all. I will _never let her hurt you, again._ I will never let _anyone_ harm you. _Ever.”_**

  
  


_No harm would_ **ever** _come to his children._ _**He would see to that, himself.**_


	3. Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To hold in what one feels is the best way to become emotionally numb.

It didn't take long for the prince to find the other ghosts of his kingdom's former inhabitants. The baker, the blacksmith, the mason, and countless others soon gathered near the tower, many of them sitting on the ground or various rocks as they congregated to the area. The children remained inside the tower at their prince's request, the shadowy ghost wanting to spare them from hearing the _undoubtedly_ _gruesome_ conversation that would ensue.

The discovery of more of the prince's subjects- or rather, _their_ discovery of _him-_ had been a rather tumultuous meeting, at first.

* * *

The prince had occupied himself with comforting Subcon's children inside of the tower. All thoughts of searching for the rest of his subjects had been thrown out the window when he had discovered the fates of the little ones, and the former prince did not so much as _entertain_ the notion of leaving them inside the tower until the children's woes had been soothed. So stay he did, until the last child's sobs had ceased and their tears wiped away.

Trying to leave to search for his other subjects proved impossible, the moment he instructed them all to stay in the tower until his return. Within a split-second, many of the children trembled and shook, some of them darting over to cling to his arms in an effort to stay with him, others laying low to the ground and attempting to curl up, much like how one would hug their legs close to their body.

The sight made the ghostly prince stop, his glowing face contorting into a forlorn expression. It was _heartbreaking,_ seeing the children of his kingdom behaving like this. But perhaps what was worst of all was they fact that what he _felt_ from them- and he could not explain _how_ or _why_ he knew this- seemed to contrast their joyous, lively selves in life. It was as though an air of sorrow and fear _emanated_ from each child. Slightly different for each child, but clearly- and again, he couldn't explain _how_ he could feel any of this- an overwhelming air of sadness that seemed to mostly obscure who they were.

  
  


If he still had a heart, the prince _swore_ someone must have _wrenched it clear out of his chest, and twisted it until it_ **snapped in two.**

  
  


So the prince abandoned the thought of looking for anyone else, resigning himself to staying with the children until they felt secure enough to let him leave.

Unbeknownst to him, while his attention was focused on the care of the children, someone had made their way to the tower.

One moment, the ghostly prince was gently stroking a child's head in an attempt to comfort them, and the next moment, he found himself _slammed_ against the wall of the tower as _something_ rammed into where his gut would have been. The prince _wheezed_ \- completely out of habit, since he no longer needed to breathe- as his mind quickly scrambled to organize his thoughts.

A prince was expected to act _rationally,_ considering the circumstances before he acted, in order to make the best judgement in handling a situation. It was an expectation he _excelled_ in, figuring out ways to deescalate conflict before someone did something they would regret. As his mind cleared and his dazed state vanished from the initial assault, he managed to somewhat make sense of what was occurring.

  
  


He was being _attacked._ He didn't know by _what,_ but _he was being attacked._

  
  


The children were here.

  
  


_The children were here._

  
  


_**Get them away from the children.** _

  
  


Acting quickly, the prince momentarily cast hospitality aside, grunting as he grabbed his assailant and flew back towards the entrance of the tower. A yell escaped from his throat as the ghost flung his assailant off of himself, sending them hurtling back outside.  
  
  


_The children were safe, for the moment._

With the assurance that the children wouldn't be harmed in the struggle, the prince's mind was able to switch from instinctive action to rational planning. His golden eyes locked onto his adversary, trying to gauge what kind of foe he was confronting-

“Darn monster, get away from the kids!”

The prince froze when he heard the voice, his mind suddenly piecing together what was happening.

The figure in front of him was some kind of ghost, _somewhat_ similar in appearance to the prince, but blue, and _clearly_ different in shape. They were attacking him not to _hurt_ the children, but to _protect_ them! There was something else, as well; their voice was familiar...

As the assailant floated back up and turned to face him, the spectral prince's eyes widened in realization. This was-

  
  
“I'll pound you into the ground, you beast!” the ghost roared, charging once more at the prince.  
  
 **”No, wait! This is merely a-”**

The blue ghost tackled him to the ground. The prince let out a yelp as he found himself laying against the earth, eyes locked onto the furious expression of the ghost pinning him down. As the ghost above him readied a fist, the prince's eyes grew huge with alarm. The blue ghost pulled their arm back. The hapless prince squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself as he let out a final plea.  
  
  


” **Julio, stop, I beg of you!”**

The blue ghost's fist froze inches away from the specter's face. The deceased prince gradually opened one glowing eye, then the other, staring at the fist that had almost hit him.

“H-How do you know my name!?” Julio demanded, face furrowed into a serious glare. _“Answer me!”_

The prince managed a nervous, shaky smile with his fanged mouth as he slowly held his hands up in front of himself. **”A prince must know the names of all of his subjects, should he not?”** was his nervous response.

In an instant, the blue ghost released the darkened phantom as they drifted back, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

_“Y-Your Highness?”_

The specter slowly floated back up, carefully dusting himself off before he gave Julio a reassuring- if somewhat sad- smile.

“ **It would appear that we have both seen _better_ days.”**

More ghosts had arrived at the tower moments after the tussle between the two ghosts. The prince wasn't surprised at their initial reactions to seeing him in such a state; he _did_ look rather horrifying, compared to the other ghosts. He would be lying if he said the terrified stares they gave him _didn't_ hurt, however. Once Julio explained to the group who the specter was, their terrified expressions switched to horrified as they realized that he was their _prince._

Horror gave way to sorrow. The other ghosts crowded around him, tears soon dripping from their eyes as they reunited with their missing prince.

  
  


Seeing his subjects in their ghostly states made the prince's figurative heart twist, again. His subjects were _dead._ _The people of his kingdom were_ **dead.**

  
  


It took all of the phantom's strength not to break down in front of his subjects, especially in front of the children that were watching from the tower's entrance.

With all of the ghosts gathered up, the prince was able to do a headcount of everyone there. He had already determined some time ago that all of Subcon's children were accounted for, calling for each one by name and waiting for one of them to respond- which they did with either a nod, a wiggle, or some other gesture. As he took account of the adults that had gathered, however, the specter soon discovered that their numbers were _far_ less complete than he had hoped for. Quite a few people were missing from his kingdom.

The servants from the manor, the guards, the servants from the castle, the florist, some of the farmers, the lawyers, his old tutor, some members from his court and _her's,_ his precious bushcat- lovingly named Rough Patch, and...

_His parents._

He wanted _desperately_ to ask about all of the missing people- his parents and bushcat _especially_ so, but he **knew** his focus needed to be on the people who were accounted for, _**above all else.**_

Furthermore, they had to discuss everything that had happened, from both the people's _and_ the prince's sides.

* * *

“We were all worried about you when you didn't return from the manor,” Julio recounted, wasting no time in telling the prince what happened before they died. “We hadn't seen Her Majesty in a while, either. We assumed you were both busy with your duties, at first. But as they days went by, we grew more and more concerned. And then, it happened at a village meeting we were having. We were all planning on heading over to the manor to check on you both, and...”

He shook his head. “All that most of us remember is a sudden cold blasting in, and then suddenly, we were like _this,”_ he stated, waving a ghostly hand back and forth to further emphasize his point.

  
  


_His name was Julio. He enjoyed gardening, and often helped the florist take care of the flowers that grew around the village. The man_ always _had a pleasant grin on his face, and tip or two for the former prince on how to tend to different types of plants._

“ _You never know when you need to get your hands in the dirt, after all,” he'd always say to the young future ruler, “A prince needs to look after the plants, too, you know!”_

_And then, with a chuckle and a pat on the back, he'd send the noble on his way, before returning to tending whatever plant he happened to be taking care of, that day._

  
  


One of the other ghosts- this one green-

  
  


_Her name was Ophelia. She was the baker. Ever since_ Vanessa _banned bacon in the manor, whenever the prince visited the village, she would set aside some small pastries with bacon in them for him to eat. Apparently, as he soon found out, the baker had gone to the manor to deliver baked goods for the two royals, and learned about the Queen's new rule._

“ _Absolute nonsense,” she would huff as she kneaded dough, “'No bacon in the manor.' What a ridiculous rule! It's not like you eat nothing_ but _bacon!”_

 _She was always stubborn like that. No matter how much he tried to politely refuse, she would always insist on him having a bacon-filled pastry before he returned to the manor. Eventually, he'd give in, mentally telling himself to mind his manners and_ not _scarf the treat down whole._

  
  


\- glanced at the prince for a split-second, before grabbing her arm and casting her eyes down to the ground. The spectral noble took notice of this, but was unable to ask about the look before Julio continued speaking.

“I knew the first thing we needed to do was gather everyone up and get somewhere safe.” Julio nodded slightly, before turning his gaze to the tower behind the prince. “We took the children as far away from the village as we could; brought them all here for safety while we searched for the others.”  
  
The prince nodded slightly as he listened to the account. **“What of the others?”** he inquired, **“Have you found any sign of them?”**

The blue ghost somberly shook his head. “Not a thing,” he reported.

“ **What about my parents?”** he asked after a moment's paused. **“Has there been any word from them? Or the guards? The servants from the castle?”**

“I'm sorry, Your Highness,” Julio apologized, “we haven't heard anything about _any_ of them. It's like they've vanished into _thin air.”_

The prince sighed in disappointment and concern. **“I see...”** he murmured, his eyes darting back and forth between the ghosts that remained from the village.

There was the blacksmith-

  
  


_Their name was Diana. Their graying hair was always tied back in a coily bun as they worked tirelessly on weapons, armor, shields, and anything else one could desire. In the shop and out of it, they were like a grandparent to all. He could still remember the day his father asked them to forge a sword, just for the young prince. They worked night and day until it was just right, letting him watch whenever he pleased, until they had finished their work._

_He remembered the awe he felt as his small hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade. It was too heavy for him, at the time, but they had laughed and told him, “It'll be no trouble to wield in a few years or so, sweetie. Just be patient, and you'll be swinging it around in no time.”_

_They were right; he found no problem in handling the weapon once he was older. What surprised him more was that he found that- unlike the training swords he was used to- the weapon they had so_ painstakingly _crafted felt right for him to wield the moment he properly lifted it up for the first time._

_It was on that day he decided he would trust no other person to craft him a weapon than the elderly smithy, nor would he have any other teacher in the art of smithery._

  
  


\- the tailor-

  
  


_His name was Horace. He always had a pair of glasses perched on the very tip of his nose, and a sewing basket on his arm. The tailor had always been kindhearted, if a bit loud, and was more than happy to make or fix up any article of clothing you could imagine._

_The prince's outfits were designed and tailored just for him, and each one fit perfectly. The young noble spent many a day watching Horace create many a design, and all of his tricks with sewing he learned from the man. Some days, the prince would help out at Horace's shop with mending clothes, creating a new outfit, or adding some small design to someone's shirt or pants._

“ _You may even best me in sewing, one day!” the tailor had remarked, patting the prince's young head after the child had mended a particularly difficult tear in one of the villager's skirts._

  
  


\- the jeweler-

  
  


_Their name was Maurice. They got rather picky about gemstones, always tirelessly working to get the cut_ just _right. The prince used to visit with his mother and father, sometimes- mostly to get some older jewelry repaired. The young prince used to watch, wide-eyed with awe as the jeweler turned a rough stone into a polished, gleaming gem, fit for royalty, or crafted an intricate necklace, ring, or some other accessory out of countless types of metal. It wasn't until the future ruler was much older when the jeweler let him practice his skill._

“ _A gentle touch makes the cut,” the jeweler used to say as they worked on their recent creation, “So take care with each small movement.”_

  
  


\- the cobbler-

  
  


_Her name was Anne. She was always so loud and lively as she worked away on boots and shoes of all kinds. The prince was certainly taken aback, the first time he met her. But there was no one else he would allow to work on his own footwear than Anne. No matter how far he walked, the noble would swear that he_ never _felt even the slightest ache in his boots._

“ _You need plenty of force, but_ lots _of precision!” the prince recalled the cobbler saying while they worked together on different pairs of footwear. “Can't just hammer away at random; you need to be precise!”_

  
  


\- the mason-

  
  


_Her name was Gwendolyn. A serious expression was always on her face, and she put a lot of work into her projects. Despite her stoic demeanor, she always wore a small smile on her face when she was finished with a project. Sometimes, when his lessons were done, the prince would stop by whatever she was building and help her with construction efforts._

  
  


\- the local schoolteachers-

  
  


_Their names were Raymond and Frederick. Raymond was older and graying, but brought a lot of energy to the classes they taught. The main subjects they would teach the children involved math and history. Frederick, on the other hand, was much calmer, but he still had a lot of enthusiasm with teaching the children of Subcon about writing and science._

  
  


\- the hat maker-

  
  


_Their name was Aureola. They always had a song to sing as they worked. The prince learned many a trick in hat-making from them, throughout the years-_

  
  


\- the woodcutter-

  
  


_Her name was Clarissa. She always had a powerful presence; everyone knew her to lift up a tree trunk with one hand and down a tankard with the other-_

  
  


\- the stable hand-

  
  


_His name was Joseph. The horses always loved him as much as_ he _loved the horses, and he always treated them with proper care and kindness-_

  
  


\- the miller-

  
  


_Their name was Zacharias-_

  
  


\- the weaver-

  
  


_His name was William-_

  
  


\- the carpenter-

  
  


_Her name was Selene-_

  
  


The spectral prince forced himself to bite back tears as each of the other ghosts' gazes fell upon him. He needed to be strong. _For them._

Taking a deep breath, the prince decided to focus on another detail he had previously observed.

“ **Ophelia,”** the prince began, **“is there something you wanted to say?”**

Ophelia looked up at the prince, uncertainty written on her face, before she rubbed at her wrists and returned her gaze to the ground.  
  
  


“Your Highness, I... I remember what happened.”

The other ghosts relented in their staring at the prince- something he was _secretly_ relieved about- and turned their attention to the green ghost, who was nervously wringing out her hands. The specter, meanwhile, furrowed his figurative brow, conflicted about the question he knew he needed to ask.

“ **Please, Ophelia, if it is not too harrowing to do so, tell us what happened,”** he gently requested.

The green ghost took a moment to inhale deeply, even though she no longer needed to breathe. It was once she released that breath that she began her tale.

  
  


“We were all at the meeting in the village. Just like everyone said, there was a sudden cold snap out of nowhere.”

Her hands clenched tightly together.

“I turned to look at where the chill winds were coming from: the manor. And then-”  
  
  


Ophelia paused, trembling as she recalled the last moments of her life.

The prince's eyes widened in alarm and worry. He wasted no time in flying over to the shaking woman, or with placing a hand on her shoulder, and another on her tightening fists, for comfort.

“ **Ophelia, it is okay,”** he reassured her, **“that is** _ **more**_ **than enough for you to say; thank you, but please, do not force yourself to-”**

“Ice burst out of the trees-!” Ophelia suddenly cried out, wrapping a hand around the prince's own to grip something for support. “The ice- the ice came from the trees, and I felt it all around me-! I saw it, I saw it encase everyone-! The children-”  
  
Her eyes became wide as saucers, her free hand rising up over her mouth. “Oh, heavens, _the children...!_ They ra- they ran away, but they couldn't-!”

Tears ran down the green ghost's face as her words were choked into silence by quiet sobs.

  
  


_The village, the children, they were..._   
  
  
  


The prince gently hugged the weeping spirit close, grief adorning his darkened face as he gently rubbed her back. **“It is okay, Ophelia, do not continue,”** he somehow managed to say through the lump in his throat, **“It is okay, shh...”**  
  
  


The other ghosts stared, shocked and horrified by the account of how events transpired. Tears ran down Frederick's face. Anne clenched her fists tightly, anger etching itself onto her face. Julio stared off into the trees, solemn and resigned.

What remained of the village, of the prince of Subcon's kingdom, all began mourning their lost lives. Some ghosts held each other. Others broke down, crying as they fell to their figurative knees. Those who hadn't succumbed to their despair moved to comfort others, murmuring reassurances to them.

The former prince stared as a realization hit him; it was one that he had already known, but that hadn't registered in his mind until that very moment.

While he had been trapped in that horrid cellar, Vanessa had-

  
  


She killed them all.

  
  


She killed _his kingdom._

  
  


_His friends, mentors, the people he cared about so much._

  
  


**His people.**

  
  


_He couldn't hold his emotions back, any longer._

* * *

  
  


“ **I have failed you all,”** the specter croaked.

  
  


Ophelia's sobbing quieted as she looked up at the ruler, surprised as the prince gently let her go and held a hand to his chest.

“ **As ruler of this kingdom- as your protector from all possible threats, I have _failed_ you.”**

The spectral prince clenched his fist, grabbing hold of some tufts from his mane in the process. He did his best to keep a steady voice as he addressed the other ghosts before him.

“ **While I was locked away in that** _ **accursed cellar-”**_

The other ghosts stared, horror engulfing their features as where their prince had been all this time was revealed to them.

**“- Vanessa-** _**she** _ **killed you all. While I was trapped, you** _**suffered** _ _**at her hands.** _ _**Lost your lives at her hands.** _ **I could do** _**nothing.** _ **I should have tried harder-”**  
  
  


He paused, hands shaking as he fought hard to speak clearly without tears. **“I should have fought** _ **harder**_ **to get free, to get o** _ **ut,**_ _ **to get to you in your time of need.**_ **But I did not. I could not. I was not-”**  
  


His voice hitched. **“I was not** _ **strong enough.**_ **I was not strong enough to** _ **free myself,**_ **or to fight** _ **her**_ **off, or to be there in your most** _ **dire**_ **hour of need, when you so** _ **desperately**_ **needed a ruler the most-”**

Tears he could no longer hold back pricked the corners of his eyes as he let out a choked apology.

  
  


“ _ **I... am so- so sorry...!”**_

  
  


Anger and guilt _thrashed_ about inside of his very being. His ghostly form shook more and more as his remorse for not keeping his kingdom safe grew greater and greater. He screwed his eyes shut, trying in vain to fight back the tears.

* * *

The people of Subcon were always kind, and a delight to be around. Even though they were royalty, the prince and his parents always enjoyed spending their days conversing with their people. The king and queen would take their son into the village with them to spend time with the residents, chatting about their days or having a meal in public. No matter where they went, they were always greeted with a smile and a cheerful “Hello!”

In all honesty, the kingdom of Subcon was less like a kingdom and more like a family. The royals preferred it that way. Everyone in Subcon helped take care of him, raising him like he was their son, grandson, brother, nephew, cousin...  
  
The only thing his parents treasured _almost_ as much as spending time with him, was spending time with their people. The prince _wholeheartedly_ shared their sentiments.

  
  


And now...

  
  


His people were _dead._

  
  


_She_ murdered his _people._

  
  


**She** _murdered his **family.**_

  
  


His soul was **overwhelmed** with grief.

  
  


He felt **unbridled anger.**

  
  


He loved her.

  
  


_He loved her._

  
  


**He _loved_ her.**

  
  


_And she_ **killed him.**

  
  


But worst of all...

  
  


_She hurt his kingdom._

  
  


_She hurt his people._

  
  


_She hurt his family._

  
  


**His people.**

  
  


**His family.**

  
  


_**His family!** _

  
  


_He loved her._

  
  


He was so **angry** about being locked up by her.

  
  


_Could he have forgiven her for it...?_

  
  


He didn't know. He might have. He _still_ felt love for her.

  
  


But he could _never_ forgive her for hurting his people.

  
  


For hurting _his family._

  
  


... He _loved_ her.

  
  


_He felt no love for her, anymore._ **Not after this.**

  
  


Now...

  
  


He felt _hatred._

  
  


_He hated her._

  
  


_He_ **hated** _her for_ **hurting him.**

  
  


Most of all...

  
  


**He hated her for _hurting his family._**

  
  


**Why would she do this to him?** _**To them!?**_

  
  


If only he had _realized_ how much of a **monster** she was, _**before**_ this had all happened.

  
  


_If only he saw the signs._

  
  


**No one would have died.**

  
  


_**They all wouldn't be-** _

  
  


* * *

The prince felt something gently pull on his hands.

He opened his eyes.

The ghosts of the kingdom of Subcon had gathered around him, Ophelia and Julio having taken his hands in theirs. Wordlessly, they carefully pulled him lower to the ground and into an embrace. The specter could only stare off into space, glowing eyes wide with surprise, as more and more of the ghosts gathered around him, either hugging him or patting his head or back.

_He didn't understand_.

“ **I-I am sorry,”** he quickly sputtered, **“I-I lost my composure, I should not be-”**

“Honey, shush.” Ophelia silenced him with a finger to his lips, tears still streaming down her face.

“ **I-I am your** _ **prince,”**_ he protested, **“I must be level-headed, a strong ruler-”**

“Your Highness,” Julio interrupted, “with all due respect, stop the leader act for a minute and just cry, will you?”

Subcon's prince blinked rapidly, his head on a swivel as he looked at all of the ghosts that- despite their _obvious_ anguish- had moved in to comfort him.

“ **I-I do not- I do not understand,”** he managed to get out, **“I should be the one comforting- comforting all of** _ **you.**_ **All of this could have been prevented if I had just-”**  
  
  


“Stop,” Gwendolyn suddenly interjected, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You did not know that _any_ of this would happen.”

“ **I-I should have known- Vanessa, I thought she might have been cursed, under- under some kind of spell, while I was- while I was chained up. I should have _known-_ I should have fought harder- I should have escaped sooner-!”**

“No, don't you DARE blame yourself for any of this!” Anne sternly exclaimed, figurative brow furrowed in ghostly fury. “This was _not_ your fault!”

The specter was _awestruck._ How could they be so kind, when he had **failed** to protect them? He didn't understand; he was supposed to _protect_ them, to be the strong leader they needed in times of peril! He looked up to them so, and knew that one day, they would look up to _him_ for guidance. _And he had_ **failed them when they** _ **needed him the most!**_ So why...?

“ **I am supposed to be** _ **strong,”**_ he muttered, head bowed in shame. **“I am supposed to be strong, so that I may lead you to safety with a level head and clear judgement. I can** _ **not**_ **let my emotions get the best of me.”**

Julio made a face, like he was biting his lip. “Your Highness,” he said, “I'm going to tell you something that your father used to say, and that I'd always hear you say to the little ones.”

Slowly, the prince lifted his head to look the blue ghost in the eye. Julio placed his hand on the noble's other shoulder, and locked his gaze with the young ruler.

  
  


* * *

“ _It is okay to cry,” the prince said, lifting little Anthony up onto a chair in the doctor's house. “It must have been quite a fall for it to have scared you so!”_

* * *

“ _It is okay to cry,” the prince soothed, carefully mending Susan's favorite shirt. “I know this was your_ favorite _shirt. You must have been so sad when it got torn!”_

* * *

“ _It is okay to cry,” the prince reassured Alexis, after finding the child's lost toy fox. “You must have been so worried about little Feni!”_

* * *

“ _It is okay to cry, my son,” the king said, tending to one of the scratches the young prince had gotten while playing in the forest. “Strength does not mean hiding your emotions, no matter how silly they may seem. Someone who is truly strong is not afraid to bear their heart, and use those emotions to make wise decisions. Feeling sadness, fear, anger, amusement, and joy allows you to understand how others feel; with your emotions, you care more about your people, and your judgements can be made by combining those feelings with your wisdom and knowledge. When you understand how your people feel, you make better choices for their sake.”_

* * *

“It's okay to cry,” Julio told the ghostly prince. “Not just for us, but for yourself, too. She didn't just hurt _us,_ but _you._ I know you want to help us figure out what we're going to do, but take a moment to cry for yourself. Holding back your tears won't make you any stronger; it'll only hurt you _more.”_

The prince looked around at all of the ghostly faces, all giving him sad- yet comforting- smiles.

He held the tears back _no more._ The shadowy prince shook as cascades of tears flowed from his yellow eyes.

  
  


“ **I loved her,”** he quietly sobbed, bowing his head once more. **“I loved her so much, and- and she hurt me! She banned bacon from the manor, she cut and dyed my hair to look like hers, she** _ **chained me up**_ **against a wall in the cellar-!”**

Diana gently pat his back. “It's okay, sweetie,” they soothed. “Let it all out.”

The prince's sobs grew louder as his entire being was _wracked_ with pain and sorrow. **“I loved her, I wanted to spend my** _ **life**_ **with her, to- to have a family with her, to rule with her, and- and-”**

  
  
The other ghosts surrounded their former prince, offering him comforting pats and hugs as he bared _all_ of his misery to them.

“ **She** _ **killed**_ **me. She left me there to- to** _ **die!**_ **She said she** _ **loved me,**_ **but she** _ **chained me up and locked me away,**_ **and left me in that-** _ **that cellar.**_ **I was so hungry, so thirsty, so tired,** _ **so cold...!**_ **And she- she just** _ **left me there to die.**_ **She killed me!** _ **She killed me!**_ **I loved her with** _ **all**_ **of my heart and soul, and she** _ **left me for dead**_ **after locking me away! I broke free, but- but she just chained me up** _ **again,**_ **and even- even** _ **more**_ **tightly than- than before! I do not even know** _ **why!**_ **All that I did was buy her some flowers-!”**

The prince hiccuped as probably a dozen or so hands pat him, rubbed his back, or held him close.

“ **How could she do this to- to you? To me? The _children!?_ _How could she!?”_**

Sad smiles faded to somber frowns as Subcon's former inhabitants did their best to comfort their prince. All the prince could do was weep at the lives lost at the hands of his _ex-fiancée,_ including his own. To think that Vanessa would fall this far, to stoop to this level...

“ _ **I hate her,”**_ the prince whispered, fury soon mingling with despair. **“I hate her for what she has done. To the kingdom, to you, to the children, to me...!”**

  
  
Julio let out a sigh as his eyes were cast towards the trees in the distance. “I know, Your Highness,” he told the prince, _“So do we.”_

* * *

He didn't know how long he cried for. All that he knew was that he was surrounded by his people. His family. Their kind words and comforting holds on him helped as the prince wept for his broken, nonexistent heart. It was in their kindness that he allowed himself the time to properly mourn all that had been lost.

But, eventually, the prince cried all of his tears, and his quivering soon ceased. With a shaky sigh, he slowly floated back up, the other ghosts releasing him so he could do so. As he wiped his eyes, the spectral prince of Subcon turned to his people, a sudden fire lighting itself inside of the phantom.

“ **No matter what happens, I** _ **will**_ **protect you all,”** he declared, determination now present in his voice.

Horace moved to the prince, planting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We'll protect _each other,”_ the tailor insisted.

A fanged smile reappeared on the prince's face as he nodded in agreement. **“We have a lot of work to do,”** he admitted, turning around to face the massive forest before them. **“So let us get to work.** _**Together.”**_


	4. A New Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the people you choose to call your family that are your true home.

Their first obstacle was finding a suitable place to establish a settlement. Without the concern of shelter on their minds, the prince felt that they would be better able to plan ahead for the future of his kingdom.

What _should_ have been a simple task proved more difficult than anyone- even the prince- had thought.

* * *

The abandoned towers that the group had found in the forest were all too dilapidated to provide any substantial shelter, and were few and far in between for the prince's liking. If they were going to build a new kingdom, the specter wanted his kingdom to be close together. After all, if _anything_ were to happen, he wanted to get to his people _quickly_ to defend them.

Originally, they had considered the possibility of staying at the tower.

“It wouldn't be too much trouble for us,” Diana pointed out, “Plus there are other towers around, too! There'd be _plenty_ of room for everyone to stay!”

“There's only one problem with that,” Maurice interjected. “The prince is...”

The specter had raised a figurative eyebrow at the jeweler. Maurice sheepishly rubbed the back of their head. “W-Well, forgive me for being so rude, Your Highness, but you're a _bit..._ well...”

  
  
 **“I** _ **am**_ **a bit too large, indeed,”** the prince finished for them, chuckling as he motioned to himself. **“It is fine; as long as the rest of you have a safe place to stay, I do not mind if I cannot fit into one of the towers.”** ****

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ophelia protested, “you can't sleep outside!”

The phantom paused as his gaze turned towards the forest. **“I may have to,”** he admitted, before his eyes narrowed in realization. **“However, it would seem that finding a good spot to lay down at- that is nearby- may be... troublesome.”**

“We could always build you a house,” Selene suggested.

He spent a moment in contemplation, before shaking his head. **“The amount of wood that would require is too great,”** said the prince, **“and I do not wish to disturb the forest any more than** _ **she**_ **already has.”**

“Well, there's nothing else to it than to find another spot,” Julio stated with a nod.  
  
  


“ **No,”** the prince protested, **“I cannot let you leave perfectly viable shelter on** _ **my**_ **behalf-”**

  
  


A loud shout came from the largest tower.

  
  


**_The children!_ **

  
  


The specter darted towards the tower, the other ghosts rushing after him.

If it weren't for the fact that he had no blood, anymore, it would have _ran cold_ at the sight that greeted him.

  
  


Joseph had stayed inside of the tower to keep an eye on the children, while the rest of the adults discussed their next course of action.

The stable hand, trembling and wielding some piece of wood he found laying around, had placed himself between the frightened children and a spider- a _massive_ spider. Bigger than the children, and of a species the prince had _never_ seen before. Green venom dripped from the arachnid's fangs as it approached the hapless spirit and ghostly children.

  
  


_The former ruler of Subcon didn't want to find out if the bug could hurt ghosts._

  
  


All thought left the prince's head as he shot a hand out and grabbed the spider by a leg. The spider had no time to turn and bite the hand holding it, as the ghost let out a cry and hurled it far off into the trees.

Silence fell in the tower. The former inhabitants of Subcon were stunned, eyes locked on their phantasmic ruler as he took a few deep breaths. Joseph dropped the wood in his hand, before falling to the floor in a similar way one would fall onto their knees.

After a moment, the shadowy specter composed himself, straightening his body upright as he slowly wiped off his hands.

For him, this moment made one thing _absolutely clear:_

  
  


“ **We need to find a new place to stay.”**

* * *

So the search began to find a new home for Subcon's deceased kingdom. The group travelled in a oval-like formation, the adults surrounding the children. The prince stayed at the front, leading his subjects forward through the forest. Their course led them away from the actual path that had led the ghostly ruler to the tower, in the first place; he had thrown the spider in that direction, and he wished to avoid any possible future encounters with the creature.

“If we stay close to the very edges of where the forest grows thicker,” Clarissa had told them, “We'll eventually make a full circle back to the tower.”

Their prince nodded in agreement. Having spent many a day exploring the forest in his youth, he was so familiar with the terrain that he could safely travel through it whilst _blindfolded._

**“You are right,”** he agreed, **“If we have not found a suitable place to settle by the time we reach the tower, then we will go straight through the middle of the forest; from here to the bridge, then from the right side of the forest to the swamp.”**

And so, the group of ghosts took to walking- or _floating,_ rather- along the outskirts of the less dense parts of the forest, heading down the right side of the forest. It didn't take long for them to discover the sight of iron fences surrounding some old houses. As the group opened the iron gates and floated in, the prince took a moment to examine the area.

Three houses lined the left side of the area. The house closest to the gate had a blue, slanted roof, while the last house at the end of the line had half of its upper floors missing. Next to the house in the back was another house, partially missing the walls to the second floor. To the right of the gates was some kind of platform, or perhaps a house that lost its walls over the years.

In the middle of the area was a gigantic fountain, taller than all of the ghosts except for the prince. A single statue of a winged cherub stood in the middle, a crown perched on their head, a jar in their stone arms, and a leg in the air behind them.

Upon closer examination, the specter could see that the water inside of the fountain was frozen. Fortunately, a second look around the place showed no other signs of ice.

  
  


Hope filled his soul. _Maybe they could make something good out of this ordeal, after all._

  
  


“They're a bit shabby,” Selene remarked after she had examined each structure, “but they'll do, for now. First thing in the morning-”  
  
She stopped herself, gazing up at the night sky. _“... Right,”_ the carpenter murmured, “once we've gotten some rest, I'll need wood to fix these buildings up to more habitable standards.”

The shadowy specter paused, his glowing eyes turning to Selene. **“What do you mean, Selene?”** he inquired, **“Surely work can wait until morning has arrived, can it not?”**

All of the ghosts glanced at each other knowingly.

The noble frowned. **“Is there something I do not know?”**

“Your Highness,” William began, rubbing his hands nervously. “Ever since we... you know... we...”  
  
The ghost let out a sigh, shaking their head slightly. Zacharias continued for the weaver.

“We haven't seen the sun in days, at least,” the miller revealed, motioning up to the sky. “The moon hasn't moved from that spot.”

The prince cast his gaze skyward as he stared at the moon, figurative brow furrowing in deep thought.

  
  


Was this _her_ doing, as well...?

  
  


“ **We shall rest until we feel that morning would have come, under normal circumstances,”** he declared, returning his gaze to his subjects. **“Even if we do not know for certain** _ **when**_ **that would be, we will make our best judgements on that matter, for tonight.”**

The children were placed in the house at the end of the left side, while the adults took the other buildings. The prince- not wanting to to take up valuable space in the bigger houses, and wanting to keep an eye on the children- decided to take the small upper half of the children's house.

“ **I will be nearby, children,”** the ghost reassured his young subjects, pointing up at the ceiling in their new residence. **“Just upstairs, in fact. If you need me for** _ **any**_ **reason, you need only go up to find me.”**

The children all watched their ruler with their glowing, masked eyes, listening intently to his every word. It was only when he started floating towards the exit that the children _clung_ to him the best they could without arms. Within moments, the ghost found himself wrapped up, with tiny masked spirits hanging from his arms and tail.

“ **Ch-Children,** _ **please-”**_ he started to kindly request, before he noticed the little ones trembling, and their eyes filling with fresh tears.

  
  


Most of the children's parents were missing, or possibly _even worse._

  
  


Seeing those tears hurt **so much.**

  
  


_**He could never leave them to cry!** _

  
  


The former prince smiled gently at the children as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. **“No more need for tears, little ones,”** he told them, **“I will stay here, for the night.”**

It took some work with his tail, but eventually, he managed to get into a comfortable enough position for him to potentially get some sleep. Subcon's children all wasted no time in finding a comfortable spot to lay around their prince, some of them nestling themselves on his mane, others nestling against his tail, and more still wrapping themselves around his arms. In no time at all, they were all comfortable and ready to rest.

The prince let himself relax as he leaned against the old wall, his yellow eyes turning into lines as he closed them.

******“Sleep well, children.”**

* * *

“No, no, get- get away- let go- GET OFF OF ME!”

  
  


He found himself startled awake by a sudden scream, jolting upright in alarm.  
  
 **“Ah-!”** he gasped, rushing to catch the children that his sudden movement had flung off. **“Forgive me, little ones-!”** he swiftly apologized, setting the ghostly children down carefully on the floor, and untangling more from his arms and mane. **“Please, stay here!”**

The moment he was certain the last of the children were no longer attached to himself, Subcon's former ruler rushed outside to see what all of the commotion was about. He had expected to see something like that monstrous spider, a fight between his subjects, or some other possible scenario his mind could conjure up.

What he _actually_ saw, on the other hand, was something he was **not** prepared for.

Outside of the houses, he saw Raymond being dragged along the ground, their tail clutched tightly by-

The ghostly ruler's eyes widened in horror.

  
  


The fountain's statue was on the ground, one hand holding its jar, and the other _holding onto Raymond's tail._ It moved so fluidly, dragging the poor spirit along the ground as it headed for the gates.

The prince's mind _raced_ as he made a mad dash for the two. The other inhabitants of his kingdom peered out from the boarded-up doors tiredly, before snapping _wide awake_ and rushing outside after him.

  
  


The statue was _alive._

  
  


_It can touch ghosts._

  
  


_It could possibly_ **hurt** _ghosts._

  
  


The specter quickly grabbed hold of the statue's arm.

“ _ **Release him at once!”**_ the prince ordered the stone being.

Despite his commanding tone, the statue did not obey his demands. It continued pulling Raymond along the ground, **dead set** on reaching the gates. The prince pulled on the statue's arm as hard as he possibly could, eyes screwed tightly as he focused all of his strength on keeping the cherub from the gates. Surprisingly, he found that his tugging managed to _slow_ the stone cherub's progress.

Soon enough, he wasn't the only one pulling the statue back. The other ghosts gathered around and gripped the statue's arms, flying back with all of their might. Gradually, the statue was dragged away from the gates.

“It won't let go!” Frederick reported after attempting to pry the statue's fingers from Raymond's tail.  
  
“Try to break the arm off!” Maurice yelled.  
  
“I'm trying, but it's not cracking!” Clarissa roared, who had grabbed a rock and proceeded to repeatedly strike the statue's arm with it.

If only they had _weapons._ If only he had his _sword!_ They would have been able to cut clean through the statue's arm, by now!

To everyone's horror, their progress with pulling the statue back ceased as the stony cherub fought against their efforts even _more._

Even if they were ghosts, Subcon's former prince knew that they couldn't keep fighting the statue _forever._

The specter's tugging lessened as he opened his eyes, his eye switching focus from Raymond's frantic pulling on their own tail, to the ghosts trying their _hardest_ to keep the statue from dragging their friend away, to Clarissa, with her furrowed brow and gritted figurative teeth, as she _slammed_ the rock firmly grasped in her hand as hard as possible against their foe's arm.

  
  


If they didn't find a way to get this stone threat to release Raymond...

  
  


The noble looked at the statue's stone face. Its expression was unchanging as it **relentlessly** held onto the schoolteacher's tail, and started making progress once more in pulling Raymond towards the gates.

The edges of his vision grew _darker,_ narrowing his field of view until the carved, cherubic face was _all he could see._

  
  


_No._

  
  


_He won't let it hurt_ **anyone.**

  
  


**He won't.**

  
  


_**HE WON'T!** _

  
  


The ghosts pulling on the statue suddenly flew forward as their prince **lunged** for the statue's head, roaring as he gripped it with his talon-like fingers. Placing his free hand on the cherub's shoulder, the spectral prince flew behind the statue, eyes narrowed, figurative brow furrowed, and fanged smile pulled down into a scowl.

**He pushed down on the statue's shoulder, _and tugged back on its head._**

His sudden, _violent_ initiative caused the other inhabitants of Subcon to share a few seconds of wide-eyed shock. Their jaws dropped as they stared at their former prince and his attempt to rip off the head their stone enemy.

A faint crack appeared in the statue's neck. Stone began to split apart. The shadowy ghost kept pulling, and pulling, and **pulling...**

The other ghosts suddenly gained renewed resolve, determination brightening up their faces as they resumed pulling the statue away from the gates. Clarissa abandoned banging on the statue's arm, and swung her makeshift weapon against the growing crack in the cherub's neck.

The struggle continued for what felt like an _eternity,_ until-

The sound of stone splitting apart grew strong, sudden, and clear, as the statue's head suddenly **popped off.** Losing its head was enough to loosen the statue's grip on Raymond's tail, allowing the other ghosts to pull the former schoolteacher out of its stony grasp. The statue's body reached out with their hand, reached for the other ghosts-

With his talon-like hand, the prince held the cherub's crown-adorned head high above his own, and **smashed it down** onto the statue's back. Fragments of stone flew about as the head _shattered_ from the amount of force used to hit its headless body.

_Its head now destroyed, the stony cherub's movements stilled._

Silence filled the air as the prince let go of the statue's shoulder. His vision cleared as his mind caught up with what had occurred. A split-second later, his face contorted into an expression of horror.

  
  


_Did he just..._

  
  


**No, that's not important, right now.**

  
  


“ **Raymond, are you all right?”** the specter asked, glancing over at the schoolteacher.

“My tail's a bit sore, but I'll li- manage,” Raymond quickly corrected themselves, rubbing their tail were the statue had grabbed them.

_The statues **can hurt them.**_

Slowly, the prince held his forehead. **“Good heavens, did I just...?”**

He trailed off, closing his eyes as a forlorn expression made its way across his glowing features.

Julio and Anne glanced at each other, before they slowly approached their ruler. “Your Highness,” Anne asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, “are you-”

  
  


A cry erupted from the two approaching ghosts as the statue suddenly lurched up.

The prince's eyes flew open. Surprised, he jolted back slightly as the statue got onto its feet, once more.

Anne and Julio backed away towards the rest of their spirited group. All they could do was stare at the statue with terrified faces as the headless cherub ran _straight for them._

  
  


_The stone threat never made it._

  
  


In a split-second, a shadowy hand slammed into the statue's back, forcing it against the ground. A stone hand continued reaching out for the other ghosts as the spectral prince held it down. Glowing eyes turned from the statue to the other ghosts. His tone serious, the ghostly noble gave his orders.

“ **Get the children, and get outside of the gates. _Hurry!”_**

Subcon's formerly-living inhabitants didn't waste a second. Directing the children out of the house, the ghosts did a headcount as they all flew outside of the gates. Julio was the last to go through.

“Everyone's here!” Julio called back to the ruler.

Secure in the knowledge that everyone was safe, the prince wrapped his fingers around the statue's torso, and _tossed it_ back on top of the fountain, before darting out of the area as quickly as he could. With Julio's aid, the prince shut the gates tight.

Through the iron bars, the prince watched the headless statue return to the center of the fountain, posing in the same way it had when the group had first arrived at the gated community.

“Now what do we do?” Horace asked, worry clear on his face.

The prince turned to his subjects, taking a moment to gaze at each one of them as he gathered his thoughts.

It was too risky to stay with that statue there. Even if he managed to throw it far away, the ghostly ruler doubted that the statue _wouldn't_ eventually return. Having to constantly fight off such a formidable threat would be detrimental to the well-being of his people.

A tired sigh escaped his fanged mouth. His decision was made.

  
  


“ **We search for a new location for our settlement.”**

* * *

Floating through the forest was easier than walking, the prince had noticed. Gravity's effects didn't affect their ghostly forms, and with no legs to step with, traversing the forest floor was _much_ quicker than when he had been alive. Heck, travelling with an entire group of ghosts was _still_ faster than hoofing it alone, when he had an actual _body!_

He frowned at the thought, bowing his head to examine his spectral form.

_He wasn't alive, anymore._ He had no body- not one made of flesh and bone, anyway. It was still so _hard_ to process that he was **dead.** Everyone else had been ghosts for longer than the prince, so they had more time to come to terms with their new forms. But him? This was still his _first day_ as a ghost- or, well, second; he couldn't tell if a new day had come to pass, since the forest appeared to be _locked in eternal night._

He was _still_ reeling from the shock of it all. How was he going to get used to _this...?_

And then there was the problem of shelter. His people needed somewhere to stay, but where? So far, the only truly viable shelters either had a spider problem or a creepy, living statue!

This was all such a huge mess...

Glancing back up, the prince slowed to a stop as he spotted a familiar sight.

To his left was the ravine, which separated Subcon Forest from the village. He had crossed the stone bridge when he entered the forest, after he had escaped from...

  
  


A tug on his hand pulled him out of his thoughts.

  
  


Looking down, the prince saw the glowing eyes of one of the children staring back at him. The little one had wrapped their tail around his hand- which was probably the closest thing the masked spirits _had_ to a hand, at this point.

He could tell that- _how could he tell this?-_ the little one was concerned about him. Good grief, he hoped they hadn't heard him talking about-

The prince shook that thought away, his expression softening as he gave the spirit a gentle smile. **“Do not worry, Denise,”** he reassured them, **“I am fine, I assure you.”**

The little ghost stared up at him for a moment more. Despite the mask, he could feel their concern vanish. He felt relieved; he **wasn't** okay, but he didn't want the _children_ knowing that. Thinking quickly, the prince asked, **“Would you like to ride on my shoulders?”**

All of sudden, the air of sadness that he felt around the child disappeared instantly. Joy and excitement seemed to envelop the child as they let go of his hand and flipped into the air.

The monarch felt his smile grow genuine. **“Here we go, then!”** he exclaimed, lifting the child up onto his maned shoulder with a hand. Denise made herself comfortable quickly, stretching herself around the back of the bigger ghost's head until she was stable enough to hang on.

The prince chuckled, patting her head gently with a talon as he continued moving forward.

  
  


His lightened mood lasted for only a minute or two.

  
  


Zacharias had stopped the ghosts in their tracks. The miller's eyes fixated on a section of land located near a small stream that stopped in the middle of it. There were various stumps and logs around the stream banks; Clarissa had cut those trees down to supply wood for the village, the prince recalled. But what had the miller's attention weren't the stumps. Instead, they stared at the treeline, where ice was creeping through.

The prince had seen the the ice when he was searching for his subjects. _Surely_ the others had, too? And yet, with how Zacharias was behaving, the ghostly noble wasn't so sure.

“ **Zacharias, what is it?”** the prince asked.

“It's the ice,” the miller had replied, figurative brow furrowed in concern.

“ **I saw it, too, when I was searching for all of you,”** the bigger ghost responded. **“Did you not notice it?”**

“No, it's not that.” The former miller shook their head as they turned to the prince, a serious look in their eyes. “The ice has spread _further.”_  
  
The prince took a second look at the ice as Zacharias motioned to it. “Before, it was only _just_ poking out of the treeline,” the miller continued. “But now...”

Realization struck as the prince saw where the ice was.

  
  


_It was almost at the stream._

* * *

The meeting that ensued was _filled_ with dread. The shadowy specter- now without Denise on his shoulders- knew he did not need to say what the other adults already knew.

  
  


_The ice was spreading._

  
  


“Even if we built a shelter in the forest, the ice will just freeze it over,” Ophelia pointed out.

“We can't go outside of the forest,” Joseph stated, “people will be _frightened_ of us! Who _knows_ how they'll react!”

“If we can't find a way to break the ice, then what can we do but _leave?”_ Selene argued.

The maned specter towering over them listened closely, a concerned frown adorning his darkened face. What could they do? They were trapped in a slowly freezing forest, with _no possible escape._ The ghosts looking up to him for guidance stared with anxious and worried eyes.  
  
“Your Highness, what should we do?”

His mind went blank. What _could_ they do-

  
  


A loud explosion suddenly came from nowhere, startling the group. The prince quickly glanced in the direction the noise had come from, and saw a small masked spirit on the ground, dazed and shaking like a leaf.

Horrified, he and the other ghosts _swiftly_ flew to the child.

“ _ **Penelope, are you all right, my dear?”**_ the prince hurriedly asked, lifting the spirit up to check them for injuries.

The tiny ghost shook their masked head to rid themselves of their dazed state, before wrapping their tail around one of the ruler's talon-like fingers. When it was revealed that the little one was _not_ hurt, the taller ghost sighed in relief, gently petting their head. **“What in the** _ **world**_ **happened?”**

The child turned their head towards some kind of purple fruit on the ground. The prince soon spotted it, as well.

  
  
“Julio, have you ever seen a fruit like that, before?” the specter asked the blue ghost.

“ _Never_ in my life,” was Julio's response.

Both ghosts sported perplexed expressions as one of the other children flew _inside_ of the fruit. The fruit started changing colors, to a red-  
  
  


**BOOM!**

  
  


Horror struck the prince's face as the fruit suddenly _exploded,_ leaving no trace of the _child that had entered it._

_**“** **ANTHONY!”**_ the prince cried in alarm.

  
  


_Did he just watch the child_ **die** _for a second time?_

  
  


**Could** _ghosts die!?_

  
  


**No, _no-!_**

  
  


All of a sudden, a familiar little mask and serpentine body suddenly popped back into existence, somersaulting in the air with glee.

The specter _wheezed,_ holding his free hand to his chest as he leaned over.

  
  


_**Oh, thank heavens-!** _

  
  


“ **Goodness, Anthony...!”** he gasped, slowly regaining his composure with a relieved chuckle, **“You nearly gave this poor prince a heart attack...!”**

Anthony stopped flipping around to fly over to the ghost, nuzzling into his mane. The prince couldn't help but smile and pet the masked child. **“Aha, thank you...”**

A few moments later, another fruit popped up where the original had been. Julio curiously flew over, rubbing his figurative chin. “I wonder...”  
  


The blue ghost went into the fruit, and a moment later, another explosion erupted. Julio soon reappeared, and let out that infamous hearty laugh.

“ _Phew,_ that was actually pretty fun!” he exclaimed, “Didn't hurt, either!”

Everyone was relieved by that knowledge, _especially_ the prince.

Raymond crossed their arms and tilted their head to the side, chuckling quietly.

“Heh, reminds me of that time when one of Frederick's science experiments blew up in his face,” the ghost said.

Frederick whipped around to stare at his fellow schoolteacher with indignation.

“Hey, it did NOT blow up in my face!”

“Oh, no, it _definitely_ did,” Raymond countered, prompting some of the other inhabitants to hold in their giggling out of politeness. “Your face was _completely_ black, once the smoke cleared out.”

“There was _only smoke!”_ Frederick insisted.

“Explain that black mark on your desk, then!”

  
  


He wasn't sure why, but the former inhabitants of his kingdom laughing as Raymond and Frederick argued about whether or not Frederick's explosive science experiment _actually_ exploded made the prince feel a little lighter. Seeing them all smiling, their despair gone for even just a _moment,_ was enough to make him feel like he could...

  
  


Frederick shook a fist at Raymond. “Why, I'll have you know, _Raymond,_ that-”  
  
  


“ _ **AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”**_

A sudden, booming laughter interrupted the argument between the two schoolteachers. They turned to see their spectral monarch leaning back and letting out a joyous guffaw. The ghosts all glanced at each other for a brief second, their smiles growing. The laughter continued for a good minute or so, as the other ghosts joined in the shared amusement. Even Frederick and Raymond stopped their bickering to laugh along with the others, and- though no one could hear them- Subcon's children shook with joy and silent laughter.

They may not be certain about their future, but as long as they were all around and themselves, the prince _knew_ they would be okay.

As the laughter died down and the prince wiped tears from his glowing eyes, Frederick spotted something unusual about where the fruit was growing. The schoolteacher floated over and examined the ground.

“Your Highness.”

The prince turned to face Frederick. **“Yes?”**

“The ice that was on the ground around here is _gone.”_

* * *

Upon discovering how effective the fruit was at removing ice, the prince and the adults of the group wasted _no time_ in using them to their advantage. The children hung onto the maned ghost- he and the adults had agreed that the children should **not** be going into the potential bombs- as the specter picked up fruit after fruit that the adults entered, and hurled them into the ice. More and more, the frozen crystals broke and broke, their frosty line shrinking back towards the trees as the former kingdom of Subcon cheered and yelled.

  
  


_**They were going to be okay.** _


	5. A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who would do anything for others deserves to have others do things for them.

The endless night cast the forest in a gentle, moonlit glow, as the ghosts worked tirelessly on the spot for their new village. The stumps of the cut trees were large enough to be hollowed out and used as makeshift buildings. Water from the nearby stream was used to douse small fires that were made to clear away heavy foliage, and the children spent their time diving into and jumping out of the water's crystal-clear surface.

In no time at all, the _new_ Subcon Village had been established.

Life after... well, _life,_ gradually became easier for the residents of Subcon Village. With their new houses- albeit rather _small_ houses, they soon found a sense of normalcy.

  
  


Soon after establishing the village, Maurice somehow found an old grandfather clock that _miraculously_ was still running, its pendulum somehow not freezing in place from the cold. Granted, the hands were somewhat bent, but they managed to curve back to the time that it would chime off.

“Honestly, it's a wonder this thing's in one piece, being exposed to the elements all this time,” Selene remarked, searching through the timepiece's internal components. “Not a bit of rust, water damage...”

She cringed as she took a look at the clock face. Its hour and minute hands- despite the damage- were both pointing at the number twelve. “Hands could use a _little_ work, but as long as it's still giving the time accurately, I don't see the need to.”

 **“This clock would undoubtedly be helpful with figuring out the days and nights,”** Subcon's ruler mused.

“It'd be nice to actually know when it's time to sleep, again,” Anne said, leaning back against one of the stumps the villagers now called home.

“Not to mention we'd be able to give the kids an actual _bedtime,”_ Horace added.

Everyone nodded in agreement, murmuring their sentiments amongst each other.

**“Is there any way to differentiate day from night with that clock?”** the prince asked the carpenter.

“Sorry, I can't tell you much more than there's no rust or water damage,” Selene replied with a shake of her head.

“Let me take a look,” Joseph suddenly said, moving over to examine the mechanisms behind the clock face. “I like to fiddle around with these things, in my spare time. There's usually a mechanism somewhere... in... here...”

The stable hand trailed off as he lifted off the top of the clock and got to work with searching.

“Heck, even if we don't find out whether it's morning or night, it's sure nice to have a clock around to tell the time,” Julio pointed out.

“I'd bet a gold coin it's nighttime,” William ventured.

“I'd bet two that it's daytime,” Clarissa joked.

“Three that it's noon!” Frederick chimed in.

The whole group of ghosts made guesses and bets on whether it would be noon or midnight. The prince shook his head with an amused smile. It was nice to see everyone in good spirits. Although, he'd rather _not_ get caught up in gambling. The kids looked up to him; he had to set a good example.

“Found it!” Joseph triumphantly cried, replacing the wooden casing that surrounded the clock's mechanisms.  
  
In no time at all, the other ghosts gathered around the stable hand, eager to learn whether they should be asleep or eating lunch.

“Well, what is it?” Maurice asked. “Daytime or nighttime?”

Joseph grinned at them all, announcing the time.

_“Midnight!”_

Half of the group of ghosts groaned, disappointed in losing their bets, while the other half cheered and pat each other on the back.

The prince saw Aureola remain quiet, sitting on the ground with their tail tucked underneath themselves and their hands clasped in their lap. They had stayed out of the betting, but they held a small smile on their face, nonetheless.

A full minute of the winners gloating and the losers sulking went by, until the realization of what time it was fully sunk in.

“Wait, then the children should be in bed!” Ophelia cried.

Quick as a wink, the entire group of adults, including their shadowy ruler, flew off to gather up the children and send them off to bed.

  
  


With the days and nights now clear, thanks to their new grandfather clock, Subcon Village settled into a nice routine:

The adults were up early at six in the morning to discuss what needed to be done, that day. The morning patrol would begin their routes, with some of the adults keeping watch over the village boundaries from up in the trees.

The children would wake up a couple of hours later, and Raymond and Frederick would prepare a spot in the village for them all to learn the lessons they prepared for that day.

Noon was recess. The afternoon patrol would take over for the morning patrol, then at one, the children would return to Raymond and Frederick for their final lessons for the day.

At two-thirty, school was over, and the children would go back to their stump homes to do their homework. Whenever they were stuck on a problem or confused about the directions for an assignment, the prince would come to their aid and explain in a way they could understand.

At three, homework was done, and the children were allowed to play in the village. The adults would alternate who watched over the children, based on who wasn't working or on patrol.

The evening patrol began at six.

At eight, the younger children were sent to bed. The older children were in bed at nine.

At ten, most of the adults except for the evening patrol would be asleep in their homes.

They didn't _need_ to sleep, but it helped Subcon's ghostly inhabitants feel like things were a bit more normal.

  
  


Secretly, after everyone had gone to bed, the prince would stay up for a little while longer to keep watch over the village. The moon up in the sky gave off a golden hue, and the silence of the forest allowed him time to reflect on the day's work, and what would need to be done tomorrow. Once he was finished pondering the important things, he would find an open spot of ground big enough for him to lay down on, and after making himself as comfortable as he could on the cold earth, he'd lay on his back and gaze at the sky.

He'd think back to his living days, when he was young and carefree.

* * *

_He thought back to when he first met Rough Patch, his little bushcat. The prince had seen bushcats before; they had a well-earned reputation for being dangerous, and if you weren't careful, that bush you decided to sit next to would show off its glowing yellow eyes and charge at you!_

_Naturally, the prince- in his teens, at the time- decided that he wanted to befriend one._

_The prince had bought some fish from the local fisherman, and marched off into the forest, eager to meet one of the fearsome, leafy felines. Eventually, after hours of searching the bushes, the prince heard a growl behind him, and turned to come face-to-face with a pair of yellow eyes staring right at him._

_A startled scream had come from his mouth as the bushcat pounced on top of him, toppling him over and scratching his arms when the young prince shielded himself from the small assailant. Eventually, the noble had pushed the feline off and ran, dropping the fish he had brought with him._

_After taking shelter behind a tree, he peered out at where the bushcat was, surprised that they weren't chasing after him. Immediately, he noticed the feline sniff at the fish he had dropped, before picking it up and running off with the ill-gotten prize_ _._

_So, they_ did _eat fish, after all, the young prince had thought._

_Naturally, when he returned to the village, everyone took notice of his scratched-up arms and disheveled clothing. A crowd soon formed around him within seconds, the villagers all concerned about the young prince. His parents, especially, were worried about their son, as the moment they heard the news, they had rushed out of the castle and to the village!_

_He waved off all of their concerns, reassuring them that he was fine._

_Despite the dangerous encounter, he wasn't so easily dissuaded from making a leafy feline friend._

_And so, for the next few weeks, when the prince had finished his studies, he would go into the village, buy some fish, and head out to the forest to where he had found that bushcat. With the fish in his hand, he would place them down near the feline and wait, trying to gain the leafy cat's trust._

_Looking back on that day, that was pretty_ stupid _of him. He could've gotten **killed!**_

_But oh, he tried and tried. Many of those days, he ended up going home, his arms scratched to all heck._

_However, after a while of carefully putting the fish down slightly closer to himself, the bushcat gradually moved closer towards him to get the fish, until they started eating the fish straight out of his hand._

_He had tried to pet them. The leafy feline bit him, then darted away to their hiding spot. After that, the prince refrained from patting the cat's head when they were eating from his hand. Time flew by, and the bushcat would eat the fish from his hand, then bat the noble's hand away, before running off into the foliage._

_One day, however, when the leafy feline finished eating from the prince's hand, they didn't run off. Instead, they sniffed at his hand, before nudging their face against it. Wide-eyed, he tentatively ran his hand over the feline's leaf-covered head, and soon heard a distinctive purr._

_The joy he felt in that moment was_ indescribable. _He smiled widely._

_More days passed. Soon enough, the bushcat was laying in his lap as he read his schoolbooks, one hand stroking the leafy cat._

_Then, one day, the future ruler had gotten up to go home, and soon noticed a small bush following him.  
  
_

_“Do you want to come home with me?” he had asked the bushcat._

_The response he got was a simple, certain, “Mreow!”_

_That day, the entire village gawked as he strode through, arms cradling the purring bushcat he had befriended. His parents- despite their disbelief- seemed impressed by his perseverance._

“ _What will you name them?” his mother had asked, placing a small bowl of fish on the floor for the feline._

_The prince took one look at the leafy feline as they darted over to the bowl, digging into the fish as quickly as they could chew. He couldn't help but remember how difficult it had been to earn the cat's trust, and how after gaining it, the feline seemed to practically demand pets from him all of the time._

_He knew **exactly** what to name them._

“ _Rough Patch.”_

* * *

The ghostly prince of Subcon Forest smiled gently as he recalled the treasured memory, his yellow eyes soon turning into thin lines as he succumbed to sleep.

Each night, he thought about a different memory from when he was alive, and each night, he'd drift off to sleep with a nostalgic expression on his face. No matter how restful the sleep- which wasn't as restful as he hoped, given the fact he was sleeping _on the ground,_ he made sure to wake up _before_ the other villagers, so they wouldn't see him laying on the ground.

Little did he know, every night, right when he drifted off to sleep, a pair of eyes would watch him in concerned silence.

* * *

As the days went by, reports from the patrols revealed that the spiders and statues they had seen around the forest didn't seem to come near the village. Collectively, the village and their shadowy ruler considered this the most fortunate of news!

The only problem with the village was the ice that would occasionally creep past the treeline, but this was quickly amended with a few of the explosive fruits- aptly named cherry bombs- that lay around the area.

Everyone was happy with their new home.

  
  


Eventually, however, their cheerful mood dwindled.

  
  


During the town's morning meeting, while Julio was excitedly informing the village about some unusual glowing mushrooms he had found, the prince had noticed Ophelia staring off into space with a sad look on her face.

**“Ophelia, is something wrong?”** the taller ghost asked. The question caught the attention of the other villagers, including Julio, who was still clutching a sample of the fungi he had _just_ been talking about.

“O-Oh!” The baker snapped back to attention. “Oh, it's nothing. Just something trivial,” she quickly replied, waving a hand dismissively.

 **“Nonsense! Tell us what troubles you,”** he insisted.

Grabbing her arm, Ophelia wistfully sighed and rubbed her shoulder. “It's just... I just miss baking, is all,” she told him. “I know we don't really _need_ to eat, anymore, but I still...”  
  
She trailed off, glancing away.

“I don't blame you,” Horace soon said, “I miss making clothes.”  
  
“Aye, I miss my anvil,” Diana revealed.

“And my laboratory,” Frederick sighed.

“I miss the horses.”

“I miss making jewelry.”

“I miss my tools.”

“I miss the flowers.”

The prince nodded solemnly at them all, his fanged smile turning into a frown. **“I miss my books, and my violin,”** he admitted.

  
  


_Everyone was silent for a long time._

  
  


The shadowy ghost closed his eyes.

_He remembered the feel of his treasured violin in his right hand, the bow in his left, the sound the strings made..._

  
  
**“Were I able to,”** the taller ghost quietly said, opening his eyes to stare at the palms of his hands, **“I would make that wonderful little instrument appear in my hands just like-”** He snapped his fingers. **“- _that._ ”**

All of a sudden, a bow and violin _appeared in his hands._

He stared at them, expression blank.

Everyone stared at the wooden instrument, dumbfounded by its sudden appearance. It took a good ten seconds for everyone to fully register _what just happened._

The prince blinked, carefully examining the stringed instrument. The more he looked, the more he _knew_ that the instrument in his hands was not just _any_ violin, but...

**“My violin...”** he gasped. **“But how...?”**

  
  


_Everyone_ stared in awe.  
  
  
  


“Try making something else appear!” Julio suggested.

Setting his instrument down, the prince focused, once more.

_He remembered how he loved writing with his favorite quill..._

He snapped his fingers. _A dark purple quill appeared in his hand._  
  
  


 **“Ha ha! It worked!”** he cried, stunned by this new power he had.

  
  


The mood of the entire meeting **drastically** changed in an instant.

  
  


“Can you make anything else appear?” Julio asked.

**“Like what?”** the specter inquired.

“How about my gardening tools?”

_He remembered the feel of that old trowel as he dug into the earth, Julio watching from nearby as the gardener struck the ground with a shovel. The watering can, the rake, the clay flowerpots..._

With a snap of his fingers, they all appeared in the prince's clawed hands. He handed the tools to the ghostly gardener, who was beside himself with joy.

“Good heavens, that's remarkable!” Julio remarked, examining the familiar tools he had used in life. “Thank you, Your Highness!”

  
  


Almost immediately, the _whole group_ of adults made requests.

* * *

“Can you conjure up my sewing supplies?” Horace requested.

With a cheerful grin, the maned specter snapped his fingers, and handed down the tailor's sewing basket.

“How about my axe?” Clarissa suggested.

With a snap, the axe appeared. The prince spun it slightly between his fingers, before handing it off to the woodcutter.

“Can you make my anvil appear? And my tools?” Diana asked the prince.

A proud grin was on the ghostly ruler's face as he snapped his fingers with his eyes closed and held his hand open, palm facing upwards.

The anvil that appeared in his hand dragged the taller ghost down. Not expecting the weight, the prince let out a surprised yelp as he **crashed** into the ground.

The whole group of villagers _instantly_ rushed over to help get the anvil off of his hand. Bashful, the prince rubbed the back of his head and laughed slightly. **“I guess I got a _bit_ carried away...”**

  
  


They all laughed.

  
  


After a few minutes of making the villager's beloved items appear, the spectral leader noticed that he was feeling _very_ tired.

If he could sweat, he'd _swear_ he'd have been **drenched** in it, by now.

However, he hid his exhaustion the best he could as he summoned up the last of the villagers items, each one of the ghostly residents thanking him profusely.

Out of the corner of his glowing eye, the phantom could see Aureola quietly holding their reacquired millinery tools in their hands, watching the monarch with a small frown.

_Could they tell that he was exhausted?_

_He would have to ask them, later._

The prince shook his head quickly and got back to summoning the rest of the villager's personal items. After what felt like **ages** of snapping his fingers, the shadowy ruler finally reached the end of their requests.

**“Is that it?”** the prince asked his people, holding back the wheezy breath that was threatening to come out.

A loud chorus of agreement and head-nodding ensued. He tiredly sighed, internally relieved. **“Excellent! Now-”**

  
  


He suddenly stopped. _Something_ moving behind the group caught the monarch's eye. Glancing up, he suddenly noticed one of the children slowly floating over.

  
  
 **“Oh, Alexis,”** he quietly murmured, floating over to the little one as the other villagers turned around. **“I am so sorry, did we disturb your slumber?”**

The glowing eyes that peered out of the fox mask held a silent question.

It immediately hit him. **“Do you want me to bring little Feni back?”**

A nod from the masked spirit was all the confirmation he needed.

That little fox had been with the child since she was born; he would not _dare_ keep her apart from it, when he had the means to bring it back to her.

A snap of his fingers produced the familiar little stuffed fox toy, a tad bit soggy and slightly torn, but otherwise intact.

  
  


All that the prince remembered was that he had smiled gently at the child as he handed her the toy, his vision swam, and then... _**all went black.**_

* * *

When he awoke, the prince found himself laid out on the ground, the other villagers gathered around him. The world seemed to spin as he sat up with a groan, his grogginess making him unsteady.

“ _Careful, Your Highness!”_

  
  


_Someone_ was talking to him, but the voices were so muffled, he couldn't tell _who._

  
  


**“What... What happened...?”** he mumbled, raising a hand to his head.

“ _You collapsed- lay back down, you're going to hurt yourself!”_

The prince was so dazed that he didn't protest as the villagers carefully lowered him back to the ground.  
  
  


“ _Are you all right?”_

**“The world is spinning... a little,”** he managed to say, his vision starting to clear. **“I-I am fine, though...”**

  
  


His glowing eyes gradually focused, and soon, he could clearly see the residents of Subcon _all around him._

“We are _so sorry,_ Your Highness,” William swiftly apologized. The rest of the group nodded simultaneously. “We shouldn't have asked for so much from you..."

**“No, it... it is fine,”** the prince told them. **“I should not have... tried to push myself so far...”**

  
  


Something pushed against his side. He didn't know how, but he didn't need to look to _know_ who it was.

  
  


**“Oh, Alexis,”** he sighed, moving a hand to pull the tiny spirit onto his mane. **“I am sorry for scaring you, little one.”**  
  
Alexis quivered as tears dripped down her fox mask, silent sobs overtaking the child. Her tail tightly clutched the tiny fox toy she had asked him to conjure.

  
  


_She had been afraid she had_ **killed** _him!_

  
  


That's what he felt from the air around the child.

**“Oh, little one, no you did not,”** he soothed, gently petting the child's head with a finger. **“You could _never_ do anything to harm me. I was merely careless, that is all. You did _nothing_ wrong. Shh...”**

The weeping spirit buried herself in the ghost's mane, trembling as tears dripped onto the spectral ruler.

As Subcon's ghostly prince comforted the distraught child, the adults all glanced at each other. They didn't need to say anything; their faces told each other what they were thinking.

* * *

“We've _got_ to do something for the prince,” Clarissa said the moment the prince was out of earshot.

The adult ghosts had all gathered to converse behind one of the stump houses, leaving the prince on the ground so he could rest and comfort poor Alexis.

“I could always make him a new sword,” Diana suggested, waving their smithy's hammer slightly.

“I could make him new clothes,” Horace stated. “He's probably love a new outfit, considering...”  
  
“I could help with that!” William added.

”I could make him his favorite pastries!” Ophelia gasped.

  
  


“Those are all good ideas, but we should do something _bigger_ for the prince,” said Aureola.

  
  


The other villagers turned their heads towards the hat maker. Normally, Aureola was rather reserved and quiet. Very little did they actually talk, but often they could be heard singing as they made hat after hat.

Needless to say, hearing them suddenly join in the conversation brought the other residents of Subcon Village a great deal of surprise.

“Like what?” Joseph asked. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we could build him his own house!” Aureola quietly suggested.

  
  


The other villagers glanced at each other.

“Well, it _is_ true that he doesn't have a house yet,” Frederick pointed out.

"I had plans to build him a house," Selene commented, "But when I found out that there wouldn't be enough space for everyone, His Highness _insisted_ that I use the remaining space for _everyone else's_ homes."

"I wanted to cut down some trees to make him a house," Clarissa suddenly disclosed, "but aside from the fact that he _specifically_ said he didn't want to disturb the forest any more than it already has been, the state of the trees right now is... not good. I don't know if the wood made from them will be _any_ good."

Horace held his chin. "So he doesn't have a place to sleep," he remarked.

A brief silence followed, before Maurice broke it.

"Come to think of it, I don't believe I've _ever_ seen him sleeping," the jeweler realized.

"Has he been up this _whole_ time?" Raymond wondered aloud.

"Since we don't need to sleep anymore, maybe," William replied.

“He sleeps on the ground,” Aureola suddenly revealed.

  
  
All of the other villagers whipped their heads around to stare at the hat maker.

“I've seen him laying on the ground, after everyone's gone to bed,” they explained. “He's always up before anyone else, so no one ever sees him sleeping like that.”

  
  


The villagers peered out from behind the tree stump at their ruler, who was still laying on the ground as he gently held Alexis' stuffed fox.

  
  


**“I am certain Horace would fix up little Feni for you, dear...”**

He paused as the masked child shook her head, before pointing at the specter with her tail.

**“You want me to do it...?”** he asked in surprise, yellow eyes somewhat heavy from his lack of energy. **“Well, it may take me a little while to be able to, but I will do it if you so wish...”**

  
  


The adults went back behind the stump.

  
  


“A house it is,” Gwendolyn quietly declared. “Now we just need to find a place for it.”

“But there's no room in the village,” Maurice reminded the group, “at least, not for a house big enough for him-”

“I know a place,” Clarissa suddenly cut in. “It's a large tree, close to the village. It may be a bit... _unconventional,_ but considering how _we're_ all living, it's not that odd. It's big enough, and definitely sturdy enough.”

"Hey, we could look around for furniture for it!" Anne quietly cried, "I found a nice chair the other day, while I was on patrol!"

In an instant, they were all whispering excitedly to each other.

"We could put the grandfather clock inside," suggested Julio, "I remember how often His Highness lost track of the time when he was reading."

"I found an ottoman just the other day," Zacharias mentioned.

"There's a nice table by some old buildings that would be _perfect_ for him!" William recalled.

All of a sudden, Clarissa held up a hand, silencing the group immediately.

"There's just one problem," she soon revealed, "the tree is... rather dimly-lit."

The reveal was all it took to put a halt to everyone's plans.

"Well, we can't have the prince living in a dark place," stressed Ophelia, crossing her arms as she thought. "Reading books in the dark is rather difficult to do, after all..."

Selene held her chin while Joseph scratched his head. Anne mumbled to herself, Zacharias shook their head, Raymond stroked their beard...

  
  


Everyone glanced around at each other. _They had **no** idea what to do._

  
  


Frederick's eyes suddenly directed themselves towards the glowing mushrooms Julio had brought in.

“Julio," the schoolteacher began, "you said that those mushrooms grow on trees, correct?”

* * *

After gaining enough energy to move around without his vision spinning, the prince of Subcon had managed to fix the little fox plush. Alexis practically clung to his mane for the rest of the day, tail wrapped tightly around the tiny fox as she rested around his shoulders.

The rest of the children had woken up, saw their prince on the ground, and _staunchly_ refused to leave his side. Frederick and Raymond had no choice but to hold their classes at that very spot, the children absolutely _determined_ to protect their prince.

Heck, _he loved these kids._ Seeing them so energetic and steadfast in protecting him was adorable!

  
  


Eventually, the other adults had to pull the kids away from the specter to get the little ones to bed. It took a _lot_ of reassuring from the maned ghost that he'd be okay, but eventually, the children relented from sticking to him like glue and went off to get some sleep. Even little Alexis let herself be carried off by Anne, once the masked spirit had been convinced that the ruler would be okay.

The prince smiled. These children _really_ had a way of warming his soul.

  
  


He waited for the other ghosts to go to bed, but was surprised to see Aureola come over to him. His surprise only grew even _more_ when they suddenly said, “Come with me,” and started flying outside of the village.

He was immediately concerned. Aureola _rarely_ ever talked, even to _him!_

  
  


**“Where are we going, Aureola?”** the shadowy specter asked, as the milliner led the ghostly prince away from the village.

“You'll see,” they replied, once more surprising their confused ruler.

However, they didn't need to explain any further. It didn't take long to see where they were going, and the sight made the prince slow to a stop.

  
  


In front of the specter was a massive tree, growing near a small pool of clear water. The glowing mushrooms Julio was talking about that morning were growing on the outside, many of them different colors. A long, thorny vine curved here and there in the water, before winding around the behemoth of a tree. The vine was the perfect bridge over the water and to a giant hole in the trunk, where the specter could see a red plush armchair, a wardrobe, the grandfather clock, a table, an ottoman...

  
  


**“What... what _is_ all of this?”** the spectral prince inquired.

“It's a place for you to stay!” exclaimed a voice from above.

The specter glanced up and saw glowing blue mushrooms growing upside-down on the room's ceiling. He quickly spotted the residents of Subcon Village as they floated down towards him, each one beaming as they reached the floor.

“Aureola noticed you were sleeping on the ground,” Joseph pointed out.

“Plus we felt _terrible_ about you passing out, after you brought all of our stuff back for us,” Julio added.

"So we all decided to make you your own house!" exclaimed Anne.

“We couldn't find a bed, but we did manage to find a nice chair,” Selene mentioned.

The ruler blinked a few times, glowing eyes moving here and there to look at the ghostly villagers.

They did this all for _him?_ He could hardly believe it!

  
  


**“All of this... for me?”**

Gwendolyn nodded. “The village isn't far. You can see it from here.”

“And-” Zacharias gently pat the grandfather clock. “- we put the grandfather clock in here, as well. I figured it'd be the best place for it; you tend to get swept away by books, after all.”

Julio smacked Zacharias' arm with an indignant look on his face. "Okay, okay, _Julio_ figured it'd be the best place for it," the miller admitted.

The prince was _stunned._ **“I... I do not know what to say...”** he breathed, holding a hand to his mane.

Aureola stared up at him with a small smile. “You deserve it," was all the milliner said.

  
  


He felt his eyes water ever so slightly as he stared at the home his people had made for him.

  
  


**“This is... wonderful...”** he murmured, a huge, fanged smile spreading clear across his face as he leaned down to embrace his people-

  
  


_His family._

  
  


**“Thank you...!”** he quietly exclaimed, tears of joy gathering more in his yellow eyes.

The villagers smiled brightly and returned the embrace.

* * *

The prince sat down in the plush chair and let himself sink into it. There were _so_ many thoughts whirling through his head: how much he loved his people, how _kind_ they all were, how _**lucky**_ he was to have them all...

As he drifted off to sleep, one final thought crossed his mind.

  
  


“ **This chair... is _so_ much better than the ground.”**


	6. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you just need a little help from the outside world.

The people of Subcon Village spent many a day much happier than they had _ever_ been, since the storm of ice consumed their original village and stole their lives away. With their prince ruling over them, everyone was able to find some desperately-needed joy in their afterlives.

Frederick found an area separated from the village by another ravine, where an old stone tower stood tall. He had wasted little time in turning the area into a laboratory to study the new unique creatures in the forest, and conduct his science experiments.

The moment he had his energy fully back, the prince had snapped the toys of _every single child_ into his claws hands. After **all** they had been through, they all _**deserved**_ to get their beloved playthings back.

The ghostly ruler's new power of summoning items was a splendid one, but after he had passed out, the villagers were reluctant to ask him to bring back even the smallest needle, or grain, or anything else they needed. They didn't want him to pass out, _again!_

“Besides, even if he was able to make all of our supplies appear from the old villages, it is most likely it would _all_ be ruined,” Gwendolyn had pointed out. “Cloth, fabric, parchment, food... You remember the state the village was in, when we all woke up like this.”

  
  


_Spikes of ice that had pierced through each house and building, an unnatural cold somehow seeping into their ghostly forms, snow so deep, they couldn't even tell how far they would have had to dig through the chilling powder until they saw the ground..._

  
  


All of the village agreed that it would be better to try and procure new supplies.

  
  


Their attempts to do so didn't go as planned.

* * *

They had tried to farm food, but the seeds never grew.

Without any kind of cotton, wool, or any other kind of fiber, creating different types of fabrics was impossible.

Clarissa didn't dare cut down any trees, out of fear that new ones wouldn't be able to grow in the macabre environment.

Julio found that any flowers he planted were dying, and the trees already in the forest were growing sick. He immediately set about working with Frederick to try and find a way to save the forest and allow flowers to grow.

Obtaining metal was almost impossible, with all of the spiders and statues roaming the rest of the forest.

  
  


Life in the village slowed as they dealt with problem after problem.

  
  


_They needed new resources._

  
  


The prince could sense the somber air as he floated about the tree-stump village. Without anything to do, aside from the patrols and watching over the children, the adults in the village slowly became depressed.

He had to do _something._ Surely, there were supplies outside of the forest... but with the current state of affairs, he couldn't even _think_ about leaving to find anything.

_Little did he know, he wouldn't need to leave for supplies, after all._

It happened while he was sitting in his chair and pondering what to do about the village's supply situation. The need for new materials was _dire..._

As he thought and thought about what he could possibly do, something unusual happened.

* * *

As time passed by, the ruler had noticed something odd about himself. Aside from being able to tell what the children of Subcon were feeling or wanted to say, he found that- most unusual of all- he could tell where all of them _were_ at any given time, _even if he couldn't see them._ It wasn't just the children, either; he could tell where all of the villagers were, at any given moment. Soon enough, he found could also sense the spiders, some unusual worm-like creatures with a green eye and a skull for a head, the odd bats with red eyes and and markings on their backs...

_Somehow, he knew where_ **everything** _in the forest was, at **any given moment.**_

The prince was surprised by this odd power, but had accepted it. Knowing where everyone was brought him a sense of ease, and he could relax in the comfort that- as long as he wasn't _too_ distracted by anything- he knew where his subjects were, as well as any _potential_ threats.

That's why he found it so odd when he suddenly sensed someone _unfamiliar_ **heading for the bridge.**

Pulled out of his thoughts, the shadowy ghost floated up from his chair and flew out of the tree that was now his home, heading down towards the cold stone bridge.

What he saw was something he thought he would **never** see, again.

  
  


Walking towards the bridge was a person...

_Walking. They had_ **legs.** _They had_ **fur** _ **,** and yellow glowing eyes hidden by a blue hood_ **-**

_**They were alive!** _

  
  


If he still had ears, the ghostly prince's smile would have stretched to _both_ of them.

There was a _living person_ in Subcon Forest. Someone that was _alive!_ And they were heading for the old village-

_Wait-_

**The old village!?**

  
  


_**“Do not go there!”**_ the specter cried out in alarm, darting quickly to get in the wanderer's way. **“It is not-”**

  
  
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

  
  


The traveler let out a terrified shriek as they fell back onto the ground, eyes wide as they caught sight of the shadowy ghost.

The ghost floated back slightly, his own glowing eyes also widening in surprise, as the wanderer crawled backwards away from him.

Heavens, his nonexistent ears were _ringing!_

**“Please, do not be afraid!”** the shadowy prince quickly pleaded, **“I mean you no-”**

The traveler pulled themselves onto their feet and ran as fast as they could, dashing madly through the trees.

**“Wait! Please, come back!”**

  
  


The ghost shot after the newcomer, panic seizing him in an instant. This person did not know about the dangers Subcon Forest now held. They could get injured, or _worse!_

  
  


_Unfortunately, the ruler's fears would soon come to life._

  
  


The fleeing traveler tripped upon a small rock stuck in the ground, and rolled directly into a nearby tree.

The prince couldn't help but pause in his pursuit, flinching as the newcomer rammed face-first into bark.

The traveler groaned as they fell onto their back, rubbing their face as they blinked rapidly to rid themselves of their suddenly dizzy vision.

  
  


**"Good heavens, are you-"**

The prince sensed something moving down from the tree's branches. One look up made him _freeze in terror._

One of those giant spiders was descending from a silky string of webbing, _straight towards the dazed person._

The ghost's mind suddenly focused, rapidly analyzing the situation.

  
  


_He wouldn't be able to make it in time._ The spider was too close to the ground and the visitor. If he was able to go up from _underneath_ the ground, he would be able to catch the spider _before_ it landed on the poor soul.

No, _he didn't have_ **time.** If only he hadn't stopped; he would have had _plenty_ of time to stop the spider if he hadn't flinched!

The person might get injured if he just made a break for the spider, but if he tried to go _through_ the ground, it was _more_ than likely **he would be met with a dead body** _ **by the time he made it over there.**_

  
  


The prince darted for the spider, aiming to phase through a tree in front of himself so as not to waste time swerving around the trunk.

_If only he could pop up from underneath-!_

  
  


As he passed through the tree, the prince suddenly found himself staring straight up into the treeline. For a split-second, he was startled as he glanced about, and found his head sticking out of the ground, _right next to the traveler._

  
  


_How did-_

  
  


The traveler shook their head, their vision clearing up as they suddenly noticed the spider _closing in on them from above._ Their body _locked up._

  
  


**_No time for questions!_ **

  
  


Pulling himself up from the ground, the maned ghost's eyes narrowed as he shot a hand out and _clenched_ the spider's body. A sharp yank **tore** the spider off from the string of web it was on, and a flick of his wrist sent the arachnid flying off into the distance.

  
  


A brief moment of silence ensued.

  
  


The traveler slowly pushed themselves up into a sitting position, eyes locked onto the specter towering over them. They stared at him, struggling to speak, but no words coming out.

Subcon Forest's prince straightened himself back, brushed off his hands, then slowly clasped them together. Flashing the bewildered visitor as sheepish, glowing, fanged smile, the ghost nervously spoke.

**“I know how I must appear to you, but I can assure you, I mean you _no harm.”_**

* * *

“So you're saying that Subcon Village- the old village- is _gone?”_

  
  


The traveler was sitting on a rock, nursing their sore head with some ice that Clarissa managed to chip off from some crystals in the nearby treeline. Subcon's ghostly prince had flown the wanderer to the new village, after a bit of persuasion, and the adults had all gathered around in an instant to greet the visitor and help treat their injuries.

Raymond was carefully disinfecting a small cut the poor wanderer's arm received from tripping, while Frederick was examining their eyes and head for any signs of concussion or cuts.

**“That is correct,”** the prince confirmed with a solemn nod.

“But... _how?_ What happened?” the perplexed traveler asked, “How could it be _gone?”_

The noble ruler frowned, his expression growing somber as he gazed up at ice between the trees. **“It was because of... _Vanessa,_ ”** he disclosed, a sudden venom oozing in his voice when he spoke her name.

The look on the visitor's face clearly showed the question they soon asked. “The Queen? What do you-”

“ _ **She is not queen, anymore,”**_ the prince sharply interrupted, turning away to hold his temple. **“She killed** _ **everyone,**_ **myself included. The whole village was frozen over by** _ **her.**_ **She has lost her** _ **right**_ **to call herself queen!”**

  
  


The sudden fury in his voice took _everyone_ by surprise.

  
  


The specter let out a sigh, his infuriated expression replaced with a more solemn one as he turned about to face the village's new visitor. **“I am the ruler of Subcon Forest, now,”** he told them, **“and my duty is to the safety of my people.”** He paused, tapping a talon against his figurative chin. **“Though you are not a member of the kingdom of Subcon, your safety is _also_ of my concern,”** he soon added, humming in thought.

Silence followed soon after the ghostly ruler's sentence trailed off.

Eventually, that silence shattered.

“Well, I may not be the lovable Doc, but I can tell you for certain that you don't have a concussion,” Frederick suddenly announced, floating off to the side.

“And I can say that your cuts are all treated!” Raymond chimed in.

The traveler sighed in relief, glancing at the two schoolteachers. “Thank you, truly.”

“Not a problem at all!” Raymond replied, while Frederick stroked his chin with a jovial grin.

**“Good heavens,”** the shadowy phantom realized, **“the old laws from the kingdom more than likely did _not_ survive the ice and snow! We will need to write new versions of them, if more people are going to be travelling through the forest...”**

  
  


Everyone murmured to each other, startled by the sudden realization.

  
  


From questioning, the prince had learned that the traveler was from the nearby desert kingdom, and had come here after noticing the forest in its odd state.

Needless to say, the phantom was relieved to hear that the desert kingdom was unaffected by _her_ influence.

“Everyone outside of the forest has noticed the change in its state,” the traveler told them, “that's why I was sent here. I was trying to find _anyone_ from this kingdom that could tell me what happened. I can definitely report back that I found you all-”

They paused, smiling sheepishly as their gaze trailed over all of the ghosts.

“- although I _might_ leave out the fact that you guys are... well, _ghosts._ ”

The ghostly monarch couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the latter remark. **“Ah, speaking of reporting back, will you require any assistance in returning to your kingdom?”** he inquired.

“Probably,” the wanderer confirmed, “Everything's so different. I'm slightly afraid I might run into another one of those spiders.”

  
  


The maned ghost smiled slightly.

Suddenly, something came to mind: _maybe this traveler could be the solution to their lack of supplies...!_

  
  


**“Say,”** the ruler of Subcon Forest began, **“if it would not be _too_ much trouble, might I request that you tell your kingdom that we are in need of supplies?”**

The traveler raised an eyebrow, glancing up and down at the ghosts and their spectral beings. “Supplies...?” they asked, confusion clear in their tone.

**“We might be dead,”** the prince explained, holding a clawed hand against his chest, **“but the entire village misses being able to do the things they love most. Baking, tailoring, forging... everyone misses doing the things they did, in life.”**

  
  


The other villagers all turned towards each other, nodding sadly as they recalled the days they spent doing what they loved the most.

  
  


One look around at the ghostly villagers was all the visitor needed to see.

“Do you have a list?”

* * *

It had been a week and a half, Subcon Forest's first visitor in a while had arrived.

Supplies of food, cloth, wool, metals, food, and other vital materials and objects had been sent almost _immediately_ to the forest, the convoys stopping short by the outskirts to meet the unusual spectral prince and Subcon Village's ghostly residents. The king of the kingdom next door had gone with the convoy, wanting to meet with Subcon's ruler in order to discuss the situation.

Naturally, their first meeting had been a bit... chaotic. The convoy had been startled the ghostly state the villagers and prince were in, and- quite understandably- drew their weapons in defense of their king. But the traveler that Subcon's prince had saved vouched for the spectral prince and his people, and soon enough, with the neighboring king's _deepest_ apologies, condolences, and sympathies, the crates of supplies were brought into the new village to be unloaded.

The king and the prince went to the prince's tree home, and talked for many hours about the state of affairs.

The prince had created a treaty with the neighboring desert kingdom, establishing peace and proper trade between their borders, along with all the rules, negotiations, and other legal necessities that the two kingdoms needed to get along with each other.

Subcon's ghostly inhabitants would not only provide goods and services to the outside world, but also protected any travelers that came through, offering safe passage through the perilous forest. In return, their neighbors would provide them with goods and other amenities.

Both rulers left the tree with smiles on their faces, and the king returned to his own kingdom to report about the Subcon's new ruler. The desert's ruler and the convoy that had gone with him kept a vow of silence about the fact that Subcon's ghostly inhabitants were... well, _ghosts,_ out of respect for the inhabitants of the forest, and to ensure that the ghostly ruler would still have legal authority over the land until they could draft up new laws that would allow the spirits to have legal say in matters.

Subcon's prince felt hope surge inside of him, once more.

**_They would all be okay._ **

* * *

The afterlives of the villagers were the brightest they had _ever_ been.

The smell of pastries soon filled the village as Ophelia worked at the oven.

The sound of Diana's hammer striking metal could be heard all throughout the village.

Horace was busying himself with figuring out how to make clothes for the children, and for everyone else, while Maurice fretted over the latest gem they were cutting.

Without horses to tend to, Joseph focused on building new clocks, so that the only way of telling the time didn't rely solely on the grandfather clock in the prince's tree home.

Wheat was ground into grain, courtesy of Zacharias, and Anne could be heard producing loud exclamations of joy as she started making shoes- not for the ghostly villagers, obviously, but to sell to the neighboring kingdom.

Selene and Clarissa worked together to make new furniture for the village, the former teaching the latter about carpentry as they sawed wood to the proper length for whatever they were building.

The instant he had gotten his hands on new material, William had went straight to weaving new tapestries, flags, and rugs. He even made a yellow and red rug sporting the prince's ghostly face.

Needless to say, looking up from the latest book he was reading to see his face on the floor of his tree home amused Subcon's prince to no end.

Frederick and Raymond received new schoolbooks for the children, and naturally, they were both ecstatic. The former had also received new vials, test tubes, beakers, bottles, chemicals, and other tools to use for his experiments, which left a huge smile on his face.

Gwendolyn got to building new structures for the forest the moment she received the supplies of stone. With her newfound masonry supplies, she soon constructed a well in the swamp, to ensure that clean water would run through the cave systems to the village's river.

Julio had received tons of new seeds, books, and new gardening tools to aid him with tending for new plants and flowers. The moment he had received these things, he flew right over to Frederick's laboratory so they could begin testing to find a solution for the sick flora of the forest.

The ruler of Subcon Forest watched the village burst with newfound vigor.

  
  


New books, parchment, and inkwells had been given to the ghostly prince, and he wasted _no time_ in drafting up new laws for the kingdom.

Soon enough, he found more things to do than just rule over the village, or use his education in law to come up with iron-clad laws.

When he had a moment of free time, he would spend time reading to the children. They would all gather inside of his tree home and find a good spot to sit or curl up as the specter read story after story to them.

_He was truly fortunate._

  
  


As the prince reflected on the past week, a quiet noise suddenly caught his attention.

Floating over to one of the tree-stump homes, the prince soon recognized the familiar sound.

Singing, but not just _any_ singing; that was the voice of someone he hadn't heard sing _since he had found the former inhabitants of the kingdom of Subcon._

Inside of the house, Aureola was busy tying a pink ribbon around one of the newest hats they had created. After they had received the materials needed, the milliner immediately got to work with making new hats, wanting to regain familiarity with their tools of the trade. Their eyes closed as they sang a tune with a calm smile on their face, giving the hat they were working on a finishing touch with a neat, little bow.

  
  


The prince _smiled._


	7. Her Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear is petrifying; love is moving.

A few years passed by, and Subcon Village was doing better than ever. Julio and Frederick figured out the trick to healing the sick trees and getting flowers to bloom. Soon, small white petals could be seen poking out of the ground, and the trees gained more color to their bark. Peace was held easily between Subcon Forest and the neighboring desert kingdom, and the afterlives of the ghostly residents of the forest were filled to the brim with happiness.

Subcon's prince ruled over the forest, just as kind in death as he was in life. Within the past few years, the shadowy ghost discovered he had _more_ powers at his arsenal than he originally thought.

He learned he had telekinetic abilities, when he found himself utterly _exhausted_ one day and sat down before he had grabbed his favorite book. Briefly forgetting that he could just summon it to his side with a snap of his fingers, he thought only about how he wished the tome would just _fly right over to him_ so he wouldn't have to get up.

_And fly it certainly did,_ leaving the prince wide-eyed with wonder.

The next was shape-shifting. He had been reminiscing to when he was a child, participating in the local festival. The feel of the carved mask against his face and the cloak's hood over his head was something he _still_ remembered, after all of these years. How he _wished_ he could go back to that time, when he was _so young..._

The next thing he knew, he had opened his eyes, and found himself much, _much_ shorter than before. A look in some nearby ice revealed a purple and yellow version of himself as a child, wearing a mask and a hood!

While he had been startled, initially, he _swiftly_ changed back to his previous form when the thought went through his head.

Since discovering this power, he made a point to shape-shift into the form he had when he was alive, whenever he went outside of the forest for diplomatic meetings. He didn't keep the same form inside of the forest, however. Aside from the fact he felt tired after keeping the form for so long, his eyes were yellow, he had a purple hue to his skin, clothes, and hair, he _still_ had fangs, and his cheeks were shallow and sunken.

_It reminded him_ **too much** _of his time in the cellar._

So, he kept his shadowy, maned form when he was inside of the forest. No one minded the prince's decision; it hurt them to see their prince in his human form.

Eventually, the adults soon found that they could _also_ shape-shift- not just into how they looked when they were _alive,_ but into others, as well! They could shape-shift into the children, both when they were alive and in their current states, and into things like the spiders, statues, other people...

Of course, this took a _lot_ of energy, so they reserved the use of this power for if they ever needed to go outside of the forest.

All discoveries of powers aside, the residents of Subcon Village enjoyed their days with smiles on their faces, once more. Every day, the prince could hear the villagers greet visitors with the same cheerful “Hello!” that they would give back when they were alive. The sound brought joy to his soul.

  
  


Overall, their afterlives were blissful, and Subcon was- despite the risks- relatively sleepy.

* * *

The news came from a messenger from the kingdom next door.

  
  


**_The king was dead._ **

  
  


All of Subcon went into a time of mourning as the prince of Subcon Forest directed his people to prepare the proper rites for grieving. Gifts and food were made and delivered to their desert neighbors by the whole village. The adults and Subcon's ruler went in the forms they had from when they were alive, and the children stuck close to the adults and the prince, wearing cloaks over themselves that went down to the floor to hide their serpentine bodies.

As they approached a large, sandstone building where the deceased king once lived, Subcon's monarch soon spotted a figure at the building's entrance.

They were wearing a brown hooded coat, the hood pointing up at the back, and the rest of the coat appearing as though it had been patched up in a few spots. From the sleeves of the coat were brown hands with only two fingers, from what the prince could see. On the legs of the unusual individual were a pair of white pants, and their feet sported brown boots. Though their face couldn't be seen from underneath the hood, glowing green eyes could be spotted peering through a pair of round glasses.

Upon seeing the group, the person waved them over. "You must be from Subcon Forest," the person noted, bowing to the group.

 **"Yes, we are,"** the ruler responded, **"We have come to give our condolences to the prince. Is he inside?"**

"Oh, yes, yes!" the curious individual answered, moving over to the door and opening it for them. "He's been expecting you. Come along."

 **"Thank you,"** Subcon's prince said, leading his people inside the sandstone structure.

Once everyone was inside, the door was closed behind them, and the hooded individual moved towards the back of the room.

Seated at the back of the room was the king's son- the neighboring kingdom's prince, who would succeed his father in two months' time. The desert prince held his forehead, grief clearly written upon his face.

He was much younger than Subcon's prince, even when the ruler of the forest had been _alive._

_Sympathy welled up inside the ghost's currently-human chest._

"Your Highness?" the glasses-sporting person spoke, "The kingdom of Subcon has arrived."

Upon being addressed, the younger prince opened his yellow eyes, glancing up at the prince of Subcon and the villagers. Instantly, the soon-to-be king straightened himself up.

"Thank you for notifying me-!" he hurriedly said to the hooded one, before he finally straightened himself up and sat up straight. "Would you please allow me to speak to my guests, alone?"

"Of course, Your Highness." The glasses-wearing person bowed. "I will be outside, if you need anything."

The unusual person made their way back to the door, green eyes glancing back at the group of visitors, before they turned back to the door and saw themselves out.

As soon as the _curious_ individual was outside, the prince of the desert turned his gaze from closed wooden door to his guests.

"You are what is left of Subcon's kingdom, yes?" he asked, his accent holding a formal tone.

 **"We are,"** the purple human answered with a nod. **"I did not think you would have been ready to greet us, so soon after our message arrived."**

"Ah-" The desert prince managed a polite- if somewhat sad- chuckle. "Admittedly, that was the doing of our Cabinet Minister. As soon as we heard that you were coming to visit, he waited outside for you to arrive."

The currently-human prince raised an amused eyebrow. **"I did not know we were so popular, around here,"** he chuckled.

"Well, all of your meetings with my father took place in the forest, so the Cabinet Minister never had a chance to meet you," the desert noble explained. "He was rather curious to see all of you, in person."

 **"Naturally,"** the ghostly prince replied, a smile revealing his humored state. Soon enough, however, his amused grin vanished as he moved to a more serious topic. **"Did your father inform you about our... _situation?"_**

After glancing at the door behind the group, the living ruler of the desert turned back to Subcon's prince and nodded. "Out of respect for you and your people, my father and the convoys kept your secret from _everyone,"_ the desert-dwelling prince told the group, his voice lowered. "The Cabinet Minister and the rest of the kingdom know that you are still around, but not specifically that you exist in your... _unusual_ state of being."

 **"Excellent,"** the forest's ruler replied, nodding his head slightly. A somber expression appeared on his face as the deceased prince approached the desert's ruler. **"How are you faring, during this difficult time?"**

The living ruler let out a tired breath, clasping his hands together in his lap. "I have done my best to focus on my duties to the kingdom," he swiftly replied, withholding all negative emotion. "My father always prioritized others before himself; I will follow in his example."

The _forced_ formal tone in the living ruler's voice made Subcon's spectral prince frown. He placed a hand upon the younger, prince's shoulder in consolation.

**“I know how it feels to lose a father,”** the currently-human specter told the king's son, **“It is the most _dreadful_ feeling in all of the world. It is okay to cry; he was a good man, sympathetic to our plight. We will _never_ forget that kindness.”**

The ghost's brow furrowed in grief as he thought about his father, _still missing..._

Yellow eyes locked onto the future king of Subcon's desert-dwelling neighbors.

**“If you _ever_ need anything from us, do not hesitate to reach out for aid.”**

The living prince, eyes threatening tears, nodded solemnly at the ghost. “I will see to it that nothing changes, in regards to the treaties and trade my father established with you,” the young prince affirmed, exhaling shakily as he held his forehead.

 **“Do not concern yourself with those matters, right now,”** the ghost told him, **“You have lost your father; let yourself have time to grieve.”**

The desert prince's gaze lowered to the floor. “I- I cannot,” he quickly protested, “There is a kingdom to run. The kingdom cannot wait for me to mourn...!”

  
  


It was hard for everyone from Subcon to remain formal. _All_ of them had lost people they had known, that they were _close to..._

  
  


_They had all lost members of_ **their family.**

  
  


The desert prince reminded Subcon's own ruler of _himself,_ the day he finally found his people.

  
  


Wordlessly, Subcon's prince knelt down on a knee, embracing the desert kingdom's prince. The living prince was surprised by the gesture.

**“The kingdom can wait for a day,”** the ghostly prince told him, **“for they, too, are _mourning with you.”_**

Gradually, the younger prince buried his face into the ghost's arm's, letting out choked sobs as they trembled with sorrow.

Silence filled the room as the villagers shed their tears, placing their gifts to the side and bowing to show respect.

  
  


When all was said and done, the ghosts of Subcon Forest returned home in silence, heading to their homes to rest.

  
  


**_Everything began to spiral downhill, after that._ **

* * *

It was two weeks later. The villagers were enjoying a peaceful day in Subcon Village. The children were flying about, chasing each other around the tree-stump homes, while the adults were busying themselves with various tasks. The prince was floating around, greeting his subjects with a cheerful, glowing smile as he checked to see how everyone was doing.

It brought him a _great_ amount of joy to see his people _so happy-_

A scent wafted through the air that the ruler of Subcon hadn't smelled in _years._

  
  


_He would have been_ **salivating,** _if he had any saliva._

  
  


Briskly, he glided through the village, searching for the source of the smell, to find Ophelia next to a nearby stump. The baker was humming as she placed down a tray of-

  
  


_**Bacon!** _

  
  


_He nearly lost his senses the moment he caught sight of the strips of meat._

  
  


Ophelia noticed the prince and smiled.

“Isn't this wonderful?” she asked, “The convoys were able to get some pigs, so we can make bacon, again!”

  
  


_Heavens, have mercy, the scent was **divine.**_

  
  


**“May- May I?”** the specter asked, using all of his power to restrain himself from _snatching_ the bacon right from the tray.

The green ghost beamed, motioning to the tray as she replied. “Of course! I made some for you; after all, everyone knows how much you _love_ bacon!”

  
  


_Stay calm,_ **stay calm,** _just pick up the bacon and **slowly** eat it._

  
  


He kept reminding himself over and over to mind his manners as he gently picked up a strip of bacon.

The scent **overwhelmed** any rational thought.

Subcon's prince instinctively bit down on the bacon, tearing into it much like how his beloved bushcat Rough Patch would tear into fish.

Ophelia's eyes grew large as she watched the prince abandon all manners to consume the strip of bacon he had picked up.

Every last crumb of the strip was swallowed by the ghost, who soon placed his talon-like fingers in his mouth one at a time to remove the last hints of bacon upon them. He paused for a moment, his senses returning as he held a hand against his mane.

 **“Ah, I am so sorry-!”** he swiftly apologized, **“Where are my manners!?-”**  
  
Ophelia laughed. “Don't worry about it!” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Seems like your love of bacon hasn't diminished!”

The prince's fanged smile grew into a grin as he laughed along with the baker.

  
  


_A sudden chill filled the air._

  
  


The children stopped playing, their masked heads turning to the entrance to Subcon Village.

The adults all figuratively froze, eyes wide with fear. They felt this cold before.

The prince and baker stopped laughing, both turning their heads to the village's entrance.

  
  


What he sensed was horrible, twisted, _dark..._

  
  


_He knew._

  
  


**It was _her._**

  
  


Red, glowing eyes appeared outside of the village. Ice spread along the ground and trees.

  
  


_Why? Why was she here!?_

  
  


Fear struck his entire being like a club to the face, _rooting him to the spot._

The pitch-black form of Queen Vanessa stepped into the village, her furious gaze locked onto the villagers.

  
  


_“How dare you make that **despicable** bacon in my kingdom!”_ the hideous queen screeched. _“You're hiding him here, aren't you!?”_

  
  


_He couldn't move._

  
  


_She didn't recognize him at all, still, but he just_ **couldn't move.**

  
  


_“ANSWER ME!”_

  
  


The villagers shrunk back, terror on their faces as they faced their murderer. Ophelia held a hand over her mouth, petrified as the malevolent air darkened their visions. Maurice held a hand to their chest. Even the braver villagers like Diana, Clarissa, and Gwendolyn all floated back slightly from the queen's presence.

  
  


_He had to protect them._

  
  


_He was_ **terrified.**

  
  


**He hated her!**

  
  


**She murdered him! Murdered _them!_**

  
  


_He wasn't strong enough to protect them-_

  
  


**She'll hurt them again if he didn't do something.**

  
  


Thoughts swirled about the shadowy specter's head as he wrestled with them, trying to force himself to _move,_ to _act!_ But he couldn't. He was _stuck._ He was _afraid_ of _her._ He was so, _so_ afraid of _**her,**_ **after all she had _done_ to him...**

The only adult that _dared_ to move, even _slightly,_ was Aureola. They made their way carefully towards the children, eyes wide like a deer in a hunter's sights as they tried to reach the masked spirits.

"Children, come here,” they whispered, their voice just barely audible.

The children all shook upon seeing the horrible queen, the cold air seeping into them as they edged further and further away from her. Tears filled their masked eyes, dripping down onto the ground.

Vanessa locked her sights on the little ones, _screeching_ in frustration as she reached for them with her gnarled hands.

The adults rushed for the children, yelling as they hurried to save them.

* * *

_Everything slowed down._

_He could hear the children_ **screaming.**

_Bloodcurdling cries of_ **terror,** _reliving the nightmare that was the moment they_ **died.** _T_ _hey_ **radiated** _pure, unrestrained **fear.**_

  
  


The powerful emotions rammed his senses like a metal shield bashing against his body.

  
  


_He couldn't save them, back then._

  
  


His blood would have **boiled,** if he had any.

  
  


_How_ **dare** _she hurt them?_

  
  


**She had the _gall_ to harm the little ones-**

  
  


Something inside of him _**snapped like a twig.**_

  
  


_No._

  
  


**No.**

  
  


**He wouldn't let her hurt them, again.**

  
  


_**NEVER AGAIN!** _

* * *

Vanessa flew back as a beam of energy _surged_ from the ground underneath her, knocking the frigid queen into the air. Her descent led to an unceremonious touchdown as she bounced right outside of the village's boundaries, rolling to a stop a few feet away.

The villagers were all startled, especially the children! It even took Aureola a few good seconds to snap out of their surprised state and usher the children away from the entrance, Ophelia flying over to help them.

  
  


_The only one not fazed was the prince._

  
  


A clawed, shadowy finger was pointed in the direction of the queen, _right_ where the beam had erupted from the ground. All the while, the only thing keeping the prince from being surprised was the **overwhelming fury** burning inside of himself, and the **overpowering urge** to protect his people.

Only one thought ran through his head:

  
  


_Don't question it, just use it!_

  
  


Rage spurred action. He felt instinct kick in; the mere desire to protect _his people_ was strong enough that he found himself doing things _he had never done, before._ The prince felt himself grow bigger, and bigger, and _bigger,_ until he was at _least_ forty feet tall. He dove through the ground, teleporting to the village's entrance in an instant. Darkened talons dug into the earth as he leaned forward, his narrowed, yellow eyes staring _directly_ at the queen as she picked herself up.

A scowl was on the ghost's face as blue flames suddenly sparked up.

  
  


**“How DARE you come into MY forest and threaten MY village? _MY people!_ _MY children!?”_** he roared, rage consuming his entire being.

  
  


Vanessa shrieked, pointing a finger at the maned ghost as she sent waves of ice at him.

_“Silence, you wretched shadow! Where is my prince!?”_

  
  


_Blinding rage controlled him._

  
  


Flames burst out, melting the ice to mere puddles in an instant, as the maned ghost lowered himself down to eye-level.

  
  


**“Your prince is _dead._ You _killed_ him, you _fool!_ He is _no more!_ Now, _I_ rule this forest, and I have news for you; there is _no room_ for _revolting ice witches, like yourself!”_**

  
  


Another blast shot up from a nearby cliff wall, smashing the queen against a tree. Then another sent her back down the path to the bridge.

The ghostly prince roared and yelled, his anger _all_ that he could think about as he pushed the queen further and further back, all the way to the bridge. She fell against the cold stone as her gaze stayed on the specter, whose fury and desire to protect Subcon's children **_far outweighed his fear of the wretched queen._**

  
  


**“I will warn you only once, you _pathetic_ excuse for a queen: _stay away from MY children and MY people, and STAY OUT OF MY FOREST!”_**

  
  


One swipe of a clawed hand sent the ice queen packing. She soared over the iced-over trees, directly back to the manor's grounds.

He waited for a long, _long_ time, to see if she would return.

  
  


_She didn't._

All of a sudden, his resolve _buckled_ as he shrunk down to his normal size, hands clutching his head. His ghostly body trembled as his mind finally caught up with _what just happened._ He wheezed, desperately trying to get air into lungs that _no longer existed._

* * *

  
  


_Everything seemed to blur around him._

  
  


_He was back in the cellar, chains_ **digging** _into his wrists, his arms,_ **everywhere.** _It was so_ **cold,** _he was so_ **tired,** _so_ **weak...**

  
  


**He didn't want to be here.**

  
  


He wanted _out._

  
  


He **needed** to get out.

  
  


_Get out._

  
  


**Get out!**

  
  


_**GET OUT!** _

* * *

He didn't know _how_ he ended up back in his tree home. All that he knew was that suddenly, when he opened his eyes, the cellar was gone, and he was greeted with lit-up bark and furniture, and-

  
  


“Your Highness?”

  
  


His eyes snapped wide open as he jolted forwards, hands clenching the ends of the chair's armrests.

The entire village had gathered around the giant tree, all of them worriedly peering inside at him.

After a moment, he managed to speak.

  
  


**“Where is she-”**

“She's back in the manor,” Julio told the maned ghost. “I went over there and knocked some new snow down in front of the door. She won't be getting out again, anytime soon.”

**“And- And the children?”**

“They're all okay,” the gardener reassured him, “Everyone's _okay.”_

  
  


Subcon's ghostly ruler shakily sighed, collapsing back into his chair with relief.

**“Good- good,”** he stuttered, **“I will be- I will return to the village shortly, to help- to help deal with any ice-”**

“You're not going anywhere,” Gwendolyn suddenly interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are in _no_ state to help. We will handle it.”

**“No, I should-”**

  
  
“Your Highness,” Clarissa interjected, “You _need_ a minute to calm down. You're shaking like a leaf; _take a rest.”_

The spectral monarch glanced about at the villagers worried faces, before his yellow eyes closed.

  
  
**“If- If there is _any_ sign of trouble-”**

“You'll be the first to know,” Raymond told him.

  
  


The prince sighed, nodding gently at them all. **“Very well. I will- I will rest, for the moment...”**

  
  


The adults all smiled at him as they floated out of the tree home. Horace carefully draped a blanket over the specter, who thanked the tailor before closing his eyes, once more.

Aureola glanced back at the prince. A frown made its way across their face, before they headed over to the village.

The milliner calmly floated over to the children and started talking to them.

  
  


_When had they all entered his home?_

  
  


The prince opened his eyes to find _all_ of the children floating around him. His eyes grew bigger at the sight, surprised to find them all there. Had he been so tired that he couldn't sense them approach?  
  
  
  


 **“Oh, hello, children,”** he quietly greeted the little ones, **“What are you all doing here?”**

  
  


Susan floated over to him, wrapping her tail around a talon. Anthony curled up on the armrest holding up the maned ghost's other arm. Denise landed on the ghostly prince's shoulder, Penelope laid down behind his head, and Alexis sat down on his lap, tail holding her little fox toy, Feni.

All of the children made themselves comfortable around their prince, each one staring at him with masked eyes.

  
  


_We're here to protect you!_

  
  


That's what the taller ghost could sense from them.

  
  


**“Protect me?”** he asked, a small smile appearing on his face. **“Is that so?”**

  
  


Alexis nodded at him.

  
  


_Aureola told us you would feel better if we stayed with you._

  
  


The children knew that if Aureola spoke to them, it was a matter of the **_utmost_** importance.

  
  


**“Did they, now?”** he asked, gaze glancing up to near the ceiling of his tree home.

  
  


_He could sense Aureola outside._

And outside they were, sitting on the thorny vine just above the entrance, and singing a little song as they worked on another hat. They were probably keeping watch over the children, _and_ him.

Somehow, the milliner _always_ seemed to know just what people needed the most.

  
  


The prince smiled, glancing back to the children.

**“If it is all right with you, children, I feel that I might take a nap. I am quite tired, after all.”**

The children all nodded, each one nestling themselves near Subcon's ruler.

Secure in the knowledge that the children were with him, the prince closed his eyes, and let himself succumb to slumber.

  
  


The day after Vanessa's attack on the village, the ghosts of the village had discussed what happened. Subcon's prince had _profusely_ thanked his people for not telling her about who he was, and asked that- for the time being- that they take care with mentioning he was the prince while they were in Subcon.

Everyone came into agreement that they would keep their shadowy ruler's true identity a secret inside of the forest.

With one matter settled, the phantom soon turned his mind to another situation that had to be dealt with...

* * *

“This _is_ troubling news...”

The desert prince gently sipped some tea, as Subcon's prince stirred his own cup with a spoon.

  
  


It had been a few days since Vanessa's attack on Subcon Village. The moment Subcon's ruler had felt able, he had instructed the entire village to travel back out to the desert kingdom, so that he may talk with the soon-to-be king about what transpired.

After what happened, the prince didn't _dare_ leave his people alone, **even for a second.**

  
  


“The fact that the former queen of Subcon would attack her _own people_ is disturbing,” the desert monarch continued, “If she was willing to go to such lengths, who _knows_ what other monstrous acts she is capable of?”

 **“It was _certainly_ unnerving to see her assault the village,”** Subcon's prince agreed, taking a small sip from his own cup. He wiped his lips with a napkin before continuing. **“Which is why I am concerned about the convoys, along with any travelers that might wander through the forest. If it is all right with you, I ask that you delay the convoys for a couple of weeks. We can meet again two weeks from today, to discuss if further delays are needed.”**

The younger prince hummed in thought, adding a sugar cube to his tea and stirring it in. “Yes, of course.” They soon nodded, lowering the spoon. “Shall I come to your forest, this time? I would like to see the situation, for myself.”

 **“Very well,”** the deceased prince replied, **“Until then, it would be best for your troops and people to stay away from the forest.”**

“But we cannot leave you to defend yourselves!” the desert prince quickly protested. “At the very least, let me have some of my people gather tomes on magic and send them over, before I delay the convoys. Perhaps they can be of assistance to you.”

The ghostly ruler nodded in agreement, a grateful, fanged smile on his currently-humanoid face. **“If you insist. We are in your debt, truly!”**

  
  


The villagers and prince of Subcon Forest returned home, the ruler informing his people of the wonderful news. As they went to bed that night, though fear lingered in their beings, a small ray of hope shined through.


	8. The Formation of the Nomads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you must prepare for battle.

It had been two weeks and _three days_ since Subcon's prince had met with the prince of the neighboring kingdom. The convoys were delayed, as they had agreed upon in their last meeting, but the convoy that was supposed to send the books on magic over _before_ the delay _hadn't arrived, yet._

The maned ghost had assumed that it must have taken the desert prince longer to find the tomes than expected, and that the noble was going to bring them in person, when he came to discuss the situation concerning _her._

While they awaited the day the desert's ruler would arrive, the monarch of the forest and his people set up signs around Subcon, warning visitors about the danger that was _Vanessa._ After all, if she was able to escape from the manor once, _she could do it again._ For the sake of any travelers that came through the forest, the shadowy specter had to alert them of the danger that the ice queen imposed.

"The moment I get my hands on those tomes," Frederick had said after all precautionary measures were set up, "I'm locking myself in my laboratory until I find something useful.

**"No need to be so rash, Frederick,"** the prince chuckled, **"Those books will not go anywhere!"**

"Well, I may also want to test to see if I can replicate some things in a controlled environment," admitted the schoolteacher as he rubbed the back of his head.

**"If you do, I would love to see your notes!"** Subcon's ruler cheerfully remarked.

Frederick laughed, clapping his spectral hands together. "In that case, I'll make sure you get the first look!"

* * *

  
  


The day the living prince was to arrive, _everyone_ in the village had prepared for his arrival, tidying up their homes and the ground outside. The ruler of Subcon Forest waited inside of his tree home, his ghostly tailed curled around his armchair.

Although the desert prince had never seen the specter in this form, the ghostly prince desired to keep his anonymity secret, in case a certain _ice witch_ happened to escape from her manor, again. He would explain his reasoning to the neighboring royal, once he got here.

  
  


_A day passed. The desert-dwelling prince **never arrived.**_

  
  


Subcon's ghostly monarch was _highly_ concerned; so much so, that he considered journeying out to the desert to check on the fellow prince, himself. However, any plans to travel to the neighboring kingdom were halted, when _Vanessa_ **somehow** managed to escape from the manor. _**Again.**_

The prince wasted no time in confronting her at the bridge. An _arduous_ fight ensued, ending only when the queen had taken enough damage from the maned ghost to prompt her to flee back to the manor.

Not wanting to follow, the shadowy ghost waited by the bridge. With closed eyes, he focused _hard,_ picturing the manor clearly in his mind as he willed an _extra-large_ pile of snow to compact itself in front of the entrance.

He had to be brought back to his tree home to rest by his people. The children _rapidly_ congregated around him to watch over their prince.

  
  


_Bless their hearts, they were precious._

  
  


He recovered relatively _quicker_ than the first time he had fought the queen. In two days, he was up and about, and wasted not a moment in addressing the village.

**“We will be going to the desert, again,”** the ruler informed them all.

The villagers murmured amongst themselves. He held a hand up to silence them.

**“The prince of the desert has not arrived, and I have not sensed him- or anyone, for that matter- in the forest,"** the towering ghost explained. **"I am concerned for their well-being.”**

The adults all murmured again, voicing their worries about the neighboring kingdom.

“So are we,” William agreed.

“It's _weird_ that we haven't seen anyone for a long time,” Ophelia pointed out.

“Something might have happened to them,” Gwendolyn theorized.

“They should have arrived by now, even if they went _on foot,_ ” mused Joseph.

“Well, there's nothing else to it,” Frederick stated, “We need to check on them.”

The specter's glowing eyes swept over the villagers briefly. **“Are we all in agreement to visit our neighbors?”**

Everyone voice their agreement with a simple "Aye!"

**“Excellent; let us be on our-”**

  
  


_He sensed something._

  
  


The prince cut himself off, figurative brow furrowing as he focused on determining what had _just entered his forest._

  
  


_It was a large group of people._ **He didn't recognize them.**

  
  


“What is it?” Julio asked the prince.

Their leader opened his eyes, glancing off towards the distance.

**“Everyone, come with me, but _stay hidden._ ”**

* * *

It took some time to reach the forest's edge, even while they were _flying._ But eventually, the prince and the villagers soon neared the end of Subcon Forest. A wave of the monarch's hand was all the signal the other ghosts needed to hide among the trees.

Silently, the specter of Subcon Forest drifted forward, glowing eyes narrowed in the direction the large group was coming from.

  
  


_He didn't know what could happen, but if anything_ **did** _happen, he didn't want it to happen to_ **anyone** _but **himself.**_

  
  


He could see figures emerging from the treeline.

He stretched his talon-like fingers.

They came closer. They became clearer-

They stopped suddenly, spotting him.

He squinted at them, trying to see any specific details that could determine their identity.

  
  


_Familiar, blue hoods, with tufts of brown fur sticking out of them-_

  
  


His eyes widened in shock.

_They were the citizens of the desert kingdom._

At the front, he saw two of them that _were_ familiar; the first traveler that came into Subcon Forest, and- with his arm draped over their shoulder- limping alongside the wanderer-

  
  


_**No.** _

The prince of the desert was limp as he was carried by the traveler, his head hanging down and feet dragging along the ground. His wrists and ankles sported _broken chains_ that rattled with every slight movement.

  
  


_The ghost's nonexistent heart **twisted** in his chest._

  
  


Another look revealed that many of the desert-dwellers were injured, or being carried due to being unconscious.

Frightened yellow eyes stared at the phantom from underneath their hoods, some of them backing away fearfully. The only who didn't was the traveler supporting their unconscious prince.

  
_They needed **help.**_

**“Villagers of Subcon!”** he immediately called out, prompting the ghosts of the forest to emerge from their hiding spots. **“Help me carry the injured to the village!”**

* * *

_They weren't prepared for so many injured people coming into the forest, but they made do with what they had._

  
  


Horace and William set out various blankets and cloth on flat pieces of wood Clarissa and Selene supplied, and Ophelia and Joseph worked together to haul clean water from the river over to a bonfire to boil. Diana, Gwendolyn, and Anne patrolled the village's borders, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble, while Maurice, Zacharias, and Raymond helped treat injured citizens from the kingdom next door. Frederick and Julio played the role of the doctors, examining each patient carefully for concussions, cuts, and other serious injuries.

The prince of the desert kingdom lay unconscious on one of the makeshift beds, shackles still attached to his limbs. He hadn't woken up, since he was brought into the village; the lack of change in his condition worried the ghostly prince as he fiddled with the living royal's shackles as much as he dared, trying to remove them. But no matter how hard he tried, no amount of messing with the restraints produced _any_ sign of them releasing their hold on the living prince's limbs.

Subcon's prince released the chains, sighing as he rubbed his temple. How was he going to remove them...?

  
  


_Someone was behind him- Aureola?_

  
  


He whipped around, eyes opening as he caught sight of the milliner. **“Aureola, what are you doing here?”** he inquired.

Aureola did not respond. In their ghostly hands was a piece of millinery wire, which they were bending here and there for some unknown reason.

The maned specter raised a figurative eyebrow, perplexed by the action. **“What are you-”**

He was cut off when Aureola moved to one of the shackles on the desert prince's wrists. Slowly, they inserted the bent wire into the lock, fiddling around with it until-

  
  


_Click._

  
  


The shackle fell off, clattering to the ground with a distinctive, metallic rattle that sent _chills_ down the taller ghost's nonexistent spine.

His eyes widened in surprise as Aureola used their makeshift lockpick to remove the other three restraints from the living prince's ankles and other wrist.

**“How did you-”**

  
  


The prince paused as Aureola turned back to him, a hint of a proud smile on their face.

_A ghost with many mysteries, without a doubt._

**“Ah, never mind,”** the prince chuckled, turning to check on the royal neighbor. **“Would you please be so kind as to get Frederick over here, when he is available?”**

The hat-maker nodded, heading off to find the schoolteacher.

  
  


Left alone to his own devices, the ghostly prince let out a long sigh as he sat down on a stump and clasped his hands together.

All that he could do was wait until the younger prince-

Suddenly, the living prince let out a low, hoarse groan as he stirred, yellow eyes blinking halfway open.

The prince of Subcon Forest snapped to attention, moving over to the living royal's side.

**“Can you hear me?”** the ghostly noble asked.

  
  


The injured prince closed their eyes briefly, face contorted in pain, before they responded.

“Y... Yes...”

  
  


_Good heavens, what in the world happened to him!?_

  
  


He held his figurative tongue about that question, and instead asked a different one. **“How are you feeling?”**

The living prince took a deep breath. “Tired... hungry... thirsty... everything hurts...” he sluggishly replied, shuddering slightly.

  
  


Well, at least he wasn't _numb._

  
  


**“What happened to you?”** the specter soon inquired, **“How did you end up like... like this!?”**

“The... The minister... the cabinet minister...” the younger prince whispered, “... wasn't our friend... He...”

Before he could continue, a raspy breath irritated his dry throat. Soon, the younger prince went into a coughing fit as he tried to speak again

  
  


_This wasn't good._

  
  


**“You do not need to continue,”** the ghostly prince informed the injured noble. **“Save your strength; Frederick will be here momentarily to take care of you.”**

The living prince's eyes tears up slightly. A choked sob escaped him as he mumbled “Thank you...!” over and over.

The shadowy specter placed a hand gently on the hurt prince's shoulder, giving him a somber, fanged smile.

Frederick soon arrived, Aureola following behind him. In a flash, the schoolteacher was over by the injured prince's side, carefully examining him for further injuries that may have gone unnoticed.

  
  


_The ghostly monarch and the young prince would have much to speak about, when the latter was well enough to do so._

* * *

“Wh-What happened? H-How did- How did I get to Subcon...?”

  
  


Two days after the group of desert-dwellers had arrived at Subcon Forest, the prince of the injured party was sitting on his makeshift bed, clutching a small cup of water. After getting some food in him and something to drink, the younger prince soon felt well enough to speak.

Subcon's prince sat nearby, hands clasped together as he sat on a stump. The living prince's question took very little thought to answer.

  
  


After all, _only one explanation was possible._

  
  


**“Your people saved you,”** the ghostly ruler informed the living prince.

  
  


He knew that for certain. After all, if the former residents of the kingdom of Subcon only had more time to prepare, Subcon's prince knew that **they would have freed him, too.**

The next question came almost immediately from the living ruler's mouth. “Are-Are they all right?”

 **“A lot of them were injured,”** the forest's prince put bluntly, **“but they will live, and recover quickly.”**

  
  


He could practically feel the relief _emanating_ from the injured prince.

  
  


“That is good. Very good,” the younger prince remarked, a shaky sigh escaping him.

One question crept back into the ghostly monarch's mind; it was hard to ignore it, given the circumstances.

**“How did you end up in this state?”**

  
  


The prince of the desert slowly took a sip of water, searching for words as he stared down at his cup.

“About a week after you visited my kingdom, the Cabinet Minister had me locked away.,” he soon explained, his yellow eyes gazing up at the tall, shadowy ghost. “He lied to the guards... told them I was not feeling well, so no one would ask questions.”

  
  


Slowly but surely, Subcon's ruler clenched his hands together more tightly than before. Had he still had flesh upon his clawed hands, his knuckles would have turned _white_ from the force.

How could this villain treat such a kindhearted prince so _cruelly?_ Just the thought of the young desert-dweller **hung up against a wall** made Subcon's prince **_sick_ _to his no longer existing stomach._**

  
  


“He was working in our government,” the living prince continued, “for a... a group of people, outside of our kingdom. They took over-”

The younger prince's voice suddenly hitched as he tried to get his bearings.

**“A coup d'etat,”** the prince of Subcon murmured. His yellow eyes narrowed as the severity of the situation sank in.

“I-I don't know what happened after- after that...” the desert monarch stuttered, trailing off as he glanced away, tears threatening to fall. “He knew my father for years. He lied to us for years...! I trusted him-”

  
  


_He couldn't continue._ The younger prince trembled as tears dripped down onto the makeshift bed.

  
  


Reacting swiftly, the specter wrapped an arm around the young prince's shoulders.

  
  


“What are we to do...?” the desert prince quietly wept, “They- They'll come after us all-”  
  
  


 **“Do not worry about that, right now,”** the ghost quickly reassured the living prince, **“We will figure that out once you are well enough to move properly. Until then, you are safe with us.”**

The younger ruler hiccuped, leaning into the phantom as he sobbed. “Th-Thank you...!”

A soft- yet somber- smile appeared on the ghost's face as he gently rubbed the younger noble's back.

  
  


_He wouldn't let_ **this** _prince **end up like him.**_

* * *

Subcon Village wasted _no time_ in preparations.

  
  


Food was packed up, water sealed into containers, supplies gathered, tents made, _no expense was spared_ as the villagers and the ghostly prince got everything ready for their desert-dwelling neighbors. After a few days of recovery and long deliberations, Subcon's ruler and the desert prince had plotted out a plan for the remaining citizens of the desert kingdom to escape to safety.

The desert-dwellers would head to the nearby mountains for safety. They would establish a new civilization once they reached a suitable-enough location, and go from there.

The village of Subcon Forest and their leader would trick the Cabinet Minister's forces into believing the prince was hiding out in their forest, leading the tyrant astray long enough for the desert-dwellers to get to safety.

“He still does not know that you are all ghosts,” the younger prince had informed Subcon's inhabitants. “You will have a huge advantage from that, alone.”

A huge, fanged grin appeared on the ghostly prince's face as he clasped his clawed hands together. **“Most certainly,”** he replied, **“the Cabinet Minister will** _ **never**_ **know what hit him.”**

  
  


As the spectral residents of Subcon led the nomadic group to the edge of the forest, the prince of the nomads thanked the ruler of forest for aiding the desert-dwellers in their time of need.

"From now on, I think we would work better if we all had an equal say in what goes on with our kingdom," the living prince had declared to his people. "So let us climb the mountains as equals!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd of hooded travelers.

  
  


The first nomad that had ever entered Subcon Forest suddenly ran over, multiple stacks of books in their hands.

“I almost forgot; we had gathered these up for all of you, before the coup happened!” the traveler explained, “I hope these will be of some use to you!”

The monarch of the forest smiled widely as he relieved the traveler of the large stack of books, and set them down on a nearby rock. **“You have my gratitude,”** the ghostly prince thanked them, before placing a hand against his mane and bowing.

The traveler bowed, before returning to the rest of the hooded group. The former desert prince soon clasped his hands together as he addressed the ghostly ruler.

“I am so sorry we could not give the tomes to you, earlier,” the prince apologized, “but at least we were able to give them to you, now!”

A clawed hand waved dismissively as the spectral ruler chuckled. **“After what all of you went through, I could not care less if you had managed to bring them over or not,"** he reassured the nomad. **"Nonetheless, we are grateful for any help we can get.”**

Glancing around at the edge of the forest, the former desert prince sighed. “Well, we should be heading for the mountains, while we can,” he remarked. “I do not know when the Cabinet Minister-”

**“Wait, before you go,”** the maned ghost interrupted, silencing the other prince with a raise of his hand, **“there is one thing that I feel would be wise for all of you to do.”**

  
  


With a snap of his fingers, the shadowy ghost summoned up a long, _long_ piece of parchment and his purple quill. The two floated down to the former desert prince for him to read over.

“This is-” the small nomad began, before his eyes widened in surprise.

**“Since you have a established a new form of government, it's necessary for us to do this. With this, we will _officially_ be your allies,”** the ruler of Subcon formally stated. **“So long as you bring no harm upon my people, the forest, or myself, we shall protect your people and your descendants from any forces that would wish harm upon you.”**

The former ruler of the desert looked over the contract, finding it iron-clad. “This is...”

Leaning down, the maned specter smiled kindly at the group of nomads.

 **“It is like I said: 'If you ever need anything from us, do not hesitate to reach out for aid,'”** the ghost said, repeating the very words he used when he had comforted the neighboring monarch after the loss of his father. **“Although, since you are all on equal grounds, I will need _all_ _of you_ to sign it-"**

He snapped another piece of parchment into existence. **"- as well as a copy, so that we both may have one."**

The young former noble's yellow eyes watered underneath his hood. Quickly, he wiped them away with a sleeve, gripped the quill with his hand, and signed his name on the blank line at the bottom of both pieces of parchment.

In a matter of seconds, the entire group of travelers lined up, each signing their name on the legal documents before handing the quill off to the person behind them.  
  
  


When the last person had signed their name, the prince of Subcon took the quill in his hand and signed his own name on the lines, before grabbing a stamp, dipping it in hot wax, and stamping the documents with Subcon's royal seal.

The ghostly prince handed the original document to the former desert prince. Once the documents were safely stored away, the two royals faced one another. A glowing, fanged smile appeared on the face of Subcon's ruler as he face the nomad, once more.

“We are still missing some of our people, but we cannot go back, in our current state,” the traveler admitted, pulling out a list of names. The specter gently took the parchment in his talons as he looked it over. “If you happen to meet them-”

 **“We will send them your way,”** the ghostly prince assured him, smiling still as the list vanished from his hand. His yellow eyes relaxed somewhat as he gave a final, parting sentence to the former desert-dweller:

  
  


**“Take care of your people, and yourself.”**

  
  


He could practically feel the nomad's joy bubbling up, as the traveler gratefully hugged the ghost. The smile on the specter's face grew. He returned the embrace, before the two pulled away from each other and nodded to one another.

Wiping a tear from his hooded eye, the nomad turned to the others and nodded. “To the mountains!”

Cheers erupted as the travelers walked out of the forest. The ghosts of Subcon waved, each one yelling their farewells and well-wishes to the nomadic group.

As the prince of Subcon saw the nomads off with a smile and a wave, his mind soon wandered to what would be coming, and what preparations were needed.

  
  


"Your Highness, the Cabinet Minister's forces from the neighboring kingdom will undoubtedly come here in pursuit of the nomads," Gwendolyn mentioned to the ghostly prince.

**"Indeed, they will,"** he agreed, his back to the mason and the other villagers.

"What shall we do?" she asked. Behind her, the other villagers all stared at their prince, waiting for his command.

There was a moment's pause from the prince of Subcon Forest, before he turned to face his people, eyes narrowed, mouth a thin, straight line, and determination etched upon his darkened face.

  
  


**"Those of you who are willing, _prepare for battle."_**


	9. The First Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some, there comes a time when they must fight for what they love.

_There was much to do._

  
  


The village of Subcon did not know one second of peace for the next few days. Clarissa and Selene set up traps around the forest, Frederick and Julio got to work in the laboratory on a special project, and the prince of Subcon formulated a plan with the rest of his people.

The royal ghost had instructed Diana to forge all of the villagers willing to enter a skirmish weapons, and a few weapons for those who weren't, just in case they needed them.

  
  


The Cabinet Minster had _no idea_ that Subcon's former inhabitants were _ghosts._

  
  


_The prince wanted to keep it that way._

  
  


Now, there were a few major reasons why the prince wanted to keep the fact that they were ghosts a secret from their adversary:

For starters, he didn't know if there was a way for ghosts to actually be _harmed,_ aside from being attacked by the living statues that were in the forest. He'd much rather they be the _only_ thing capable of hurting them; any inkling that Subcon's former kingdom were made up of ghosts might prompt the Cabinet Minister to look into methods of **getting rid of them.**

Secondly, if push came to shove, changing into their ghostly forms and using their powers would be able to turn the tables in Subcon's favor. He wanted to save that reveal only for the most _dire_ of situations.

Thirdly, when it became apparent to their foes that the villagers that volunteered to fight seemed to _not_ be fazed by any blows dealt, the enemy _might_ get the impression that Subcon's forces were **invincible.** This was not only useful for the inhabitants of the forest, but it also gave the prince _plenty_ of amusement just thinking about it.

The last reason- minor compared to the others, but still important to Subcon's prince- was the fact that as long as the Cabinet Minister thought the prince and his people were alive, the tyrant wouldn't try to take over the land.

While the deceased desert king had made sure that the ghosts of Subcon _legally_ had the right to keep their claimed ownership of Subcon Forest, and retain their power as a kingdom (which the specter had a copy of the document declaring that right), the ruler of the forest wanted to make sure that the Cabinet Minister _didn't_ know that. He wanted to prevent their enemy from getting any ideas about _legally changing the original document and_ **selling the forest to the highest bidder.**

If he was being honest with himself, those four reasons were _all_ the reasons he needed to risk being in his human form inside of the forest.

  
  


For the time being, however, the ghostly monarch stayed in his spectral form as he oversaw preparations for the coming conflict.

  
  


All preparations came to a screeching halt, however, when the prince sensed a few people enter the forest.

  
  


**“Get the children to the well!”** he yelled.

  
  


In less than a second, Ophelia, Maurice, Raymond, Frederick, Aureola, Joseph, William, and Selene had gathered up the masked spirits and ushered them towards the Subcon Well.

Julio, Diana, Horace, Anne, Gwendolyn, Clarissa, and Zacharias moved to their leader, weapons in hand.

The prince nodded to the villagers with him, turning to where the small group was at.

 **“Follow me. Once we are close enough, stay behind the trees in your human forms,”** he commanded, before flying off towards the forest's edge.

* * *

A prince was required to know how to negotiate with _potentially_ _violent_ rulers, but a prince also needed to know how to _outsmart_ potentially violent rulers.

  
Which was what he intended to do.  
  


As he shape-shifted into his human form, his yellow eyes glanced out from behind the tree he was using for cover.

  
  


_What he saw surprised him._

  
  


Walking through the forest was the Cabinet Minister, a few guards flanking him on either side. The guard closest to the usurper's right was dressed in unusual garb, with thick white hair hiding his eyes from view. The closest guard to the Cabinet Minister's left was a person wearing a long, flowing cloak, the hood pulled up to obscure their face.

The prince narrowed his eyes, a scowl appearing on his face. The _nerve_ of that usurper; bringing an army into **his forest** to go after those poor nomads-!

  
  


**_Stay calm._ **

  
  


Taking a deep breath, the prince relaxed and stood up straight, holding his arms behind his back.

  
  


**“You are certainly far from the desert,”** the prince coolly said, stepping out from behind his hiding spot.

  
  


The guards and the Cabinet Minister all immediately locked their gazes on the forest's prince. The leader of the group stared through his spectacles, composing himself quickly. “Ah, the prince of Subcon Forest!” he cheerfully remarked, “Just the person I was looking for; there is much to discuss-”

**“Oh, really?”** the prince interrupted, gliding his right hand over the tree bark as he raised an unamused eyebrow. **“What you need to discuss would not happen to involve the prince of the kingdom you _staged a coup d'etat in,_ would it?”**

The Cabinet Minister paused momentarily. “Ah, I see,” he muttered, before clearing his throat. “A coup d'etat isn't _exactly_ how I would put it-”

  
  


Once more, Subcon's ruler interrupted him.

  
  


**“I have to disagree,”** the human ghost subtly stressed, **“mostly because I do not see what _injustice_ a young prince could have done to warrant _chaining him to a wall and denying him food or water.”_**

  
  


If the prince's interruption did not make the usurper hesitate, the hint of anger in the ruler's tone _certainly_ achieved its intended effect. The Cabinet Minister tugged slightly on the collar of his hooded coat as he regained his nerve.

“We don't want any violence,” he lied, “I only ask that you give us the prince and _any_ criminals that may have aided him, and we'll be on our way.”

  
_"Criminals". A group of innocent, injured civilians caught in the midst of combat, who_ **risked their lives** _to save their prince from the clutches of the usurper who took over such a peaceful kingdom, and the tyrant had the **gall** to call them "criminals"._

  
  


A hint of a displeased frown gradually crept across the prince's face as he steepled his fingers.

  
  


**“Are you aware of _why_ I am the ruler of Subcon Forest?”** the prince suddenly asked.

  
  


The question perplexed the Cabinet Minister. “I am aware of the details,” he soon replied. “What about it?”

  
  


Slowly, the ruler turned to his left, calmly strolling along through the soft grass. **“For- heavens knows _how_ long- the _former queen_ of the kingdom of Subcon _strung me up with chains in a frigid cellar._ I was famished, parched, so tired, _so cold...”_**

Slowly, he rubbed his wrists, yellow eyes cast down at them as he continued speaking.

**“I remember the cold metal of those _shackles_ , the rustling of those _chains_ as I tried _so hard_ to break loose from them, how they _dug_ through my clothes, into my _skin..._ The pain was _agonizing!”_**

He released his wrists, before netting his fingers together and turning towards the Cabinet Minister, a stern look appearing in his currently-human eyes. **“So explain to me,”** he began, voice low and quiet, yet with danger hidden in his tone, **“why I would ever even _consider-”_**

  
  


The prince slowly strode over, a scowl starting to form upon his pale, purple face as his yellow eyes stared directly into the usurper's bespectacled, green ones.

  
  


**“- letting you put _someone_ _else_ in _chains,_ _like she did to me?”_**

  
  


A tense silence fell.

  
  


“I... I urge you to reconsider-”  
  


 **“The desert's prince and his people are under the protection of _my kingdom,”_** the prince announced clearly for all to hear. **“Unless you are willing to allow the remaining citizens of the desert to _safely_ travel to my forest, I suggest you leave quietly and enjoy your _stolen throne_ with your _life intact.”_**

  
  


Clenching his two-fingered fists, the Cabinet Minister seethed as he pointed at the prince. “You are defenseless!” he fumed.

The prince merely flashed a small, confident smile. **“Did you really think I would have come to meet you by _myself,_ and speak to you in such a manner, if I did _not_ have the power to prove that you are in _tangible_ danger?”**

  
  


The hooded one- silent until now- leaned down to the Cabinet Minister and whispered to him.  
  
Whatever they said to the usurper, he was clearly displeased by it.

“You have made a terrible mistake,” hissed the desert tyrant.

**“No, _you_ did,”** the prince informed him, **“the moment you staged that coup, you made an enemy of _all_ of Subcon Forest.”**

He leaned down slightly, brow furrowed in restrained fury.

**“If you _ever_ return here, I can assure you, your downfall will be _swift and certain.”_**

  
  


A few seconds passed by as forest's ruler and the tyrant Cabinet Minister locked eyes with one another, the tyrant's dark and filled with contempt, and the prince's filled with held-back- but clearly evident- rage.

It was the former who broke his gaze first, turning back in the direction he had come from. “Take me back to the desert,” the Cabinet Minister ordered the guards.

The sound of marching boots broke the forest's silence briefly as the tyrant and his guards left Subcon Forest.

  
  


The prince slowly sighed, his expression relaxing into a solemn, contemplative look that rested upon his face.

The villagers hiding behind the trees soon emerged, all of them relieved that no violence had occurred. Yet, as they approached their prince, the group of villagers couldn't help but hesitate. Hearing their prince describe his time in the cellar with such _anger_ left them all concerned.

Their concerns were soon alleviated when the prince straightened himself out and slowly turned his head to them, a smile on his face.

**“I do not know what the rest of you think,”** he said, **“But in my opinion, I think he took the bait.“**

Relieved smiles appeared on the villager's faces as they collectively let out a sigh.

“He certainly is something, isn't he?” Diana remarked, leaning upon their sword as they stuck it in the ground.

 **“Indeed; he will surely return with more forces,”** the specter agreed, turning back to the forest's depths as he motioned with a hand. **“Come along, everyone; there is much work to be done, before that time comes.”**

* * *

_They were ready for **any** attack that might come._

  
  


The ghosts of Subcon Forest had their traps set, weapons forged, and plans ready for when the Cabinet Minister's forces arrived. They waited for the day when their leader would announce the inevitable arrival of the enemy's forces, each one ready to answer the call to arms in an instant. Until then, their afterlives returned to a relatively normal state.

The children roamed through the village, playing games with one another, and the adults went back to their normal routines. The only ones who strayed from their normal duties were Julio and Frederick; the two had gone to the schoolteacher's laboratory to work on some big project.

Subcon's ruler spent his time helping the villagers with their daily duties. Many a day he spent working on things like forging weapons and armor with Diana, taking over Frederick's duties as the children's science and writing teacher, and with various other jobs here and there as they were needed.

  
  


Every so often, he would focus hard and will more snow to fall in front of the doors to the manor. It would be bad if _she_ broke out while the villagers and their ruler were in the midst of battle, after all.

  
  


_They_ **really** _needed to find a way to keep **her** in the manor; a way more permanent than a pile of snow in front of the entrance._

  
  


For now, though, he focused on his current task: weaving new cloth.

  
  


“That's it! You've got it!” William cried, lifting up the completed fabric to inspect. “This will be _perfect_ for more traps, if we need them!”

The prince rubbed the back of his head, his glowing, fanged smile matching the sheepish look in his eyes. **“I must admit, I think sewing is more my forte,”** he nervously laughed.

“Oh, nonsense!” The weaver neatly folded the cloth over his arm. “You are _already_ excellent with weaving! Why, I think you could even become a master!" He grinned, placing a hand to his spectral chest. "With a few tips from yours truly.”

The ghostly monarch's smile grew excited at the prospect. **“Would you mind?”** he soon asked William, **“I would _love_ to improve my skills in weaving.”**

“I would be honored!” the weaver exclaimed, patting the maned specter's shoulder. “Why, I could _even_ reveal some of my master secrets to you, once you're ready!”

**“Heavens, that would be delightful!-”**

  
  


His eyes grew _huge._

  
  


_A **massive** group of people were in the forest._

  
  


**“They are here,”** the prince said, before William could ask what the matter was.

Understanding immediately, the weaver rushed around his house as the ghostly prince hurried outside.  
  
  


 **“THEY ARE HERE!”** he boomed.

  
  


Those three words were all it took for Subcon Village to spring into action.

  
  


The doors were locked, the children gathered up and taken to the well, and the villagers that were willing to go to the front lines gathered around the specter.

In seconds, the whole group of ghosts shape-shifted into their human forms. Diana handed out weapons and armor to each of them.

“Here, Your Highness.”

The blacksmith held out a blade to the prince once he had finished putting on his armor. The hilt of the weapon immediately caught the noble's attention, and his jaw dropped slightly when he realized what the design of the blade was.

The hilt was designed to look like his ghostly form, the hands curved inwards towards a blue flame. His head and mane served as the pommel, his arms and body the grip, and the rest of his arms and his hands served as the guard of the blade. The rest of the sword was a straight-edged longsword that ended in a slowly tapered point, featuring a design of Subcon Forest in the background. The fuller in the middle of the blade looked like his spectral body, which ended near the very tip of the blade.

Subcon's ruler raised an eyebrow. **“Do you not think this is a _bit_ much?”** he asked Diana.

Diana merely smiled as they pat his shoulder. _“Everyone_ needs a bit of pride in themselves,” they told the young ruler. “Besides, if there ever comes a time where one of those soldiers spots you floating around as a ghost, they _might_ think your sword came to life, instead!”

The human specter laughed, thoroughly amused by the idea of some poor soldier believing that a _sword_ was actually a _ghost._

**“Heavens, that _would_ be entertaining!”** he replied, wiping a tear from his eye.

A grin on their face, Diana pat the noble's shoulder a couple more times before they moved over to the other villagers.

  
  


Though he didn't need to, anymore, the prince inhaled deeply and released the acquired breath, before sheathing the blade and attaching it to his hip. Tying his hair back, the purple human turned to his people and stood tall.

  
  


**“Today is the first fight against our adversaries,”** he announced to the villagers, yellow eyes glancing over the forest's line of defense. **“I hope that it will be the _only_ fight, but it is unlikely that this will be the case.”**

Julio, Diana, Horace, Anne, Gwendolyn, Clarissa, and Zacharias all stood tall, their helmets and armor on and their weapons in hand.

**“As you all know, we are dead, so it is _highly_ unlikely that our enemy will be able to actually _hurt_ us,”** the prince continued, his own helmet tucked underneath his arm. **“However, I still urge you to err on the side of caution, just in case. Avoid any blows as _much_ as possible, and stay in your human forms unless you absolutely _must_ show your actual forms.”**

  
  


Without warning, the forest's monarch stopped speaking, his expression softening into one of remorse.

**“I am sorry that you must fight to protect our forest, after everything we have been through. But I thank you for being so willing to put yourselves at risk for the safety of _everyone_ that lives in Subcon Forest.”**

  
  


Everyone was at attention. He could see Zacharias was eager to get into the fray, just from the look in their eyes and the way they clutched the guisarme they were supplied in their hands. Clarissa was much more calm, lifting a battle axe onto her shoulder, while Anne leaned against a massive hammer, the head resting on the ground. Horace nodded at the ruler while holding a halberd and shield, Gwendolyn spun a mace between her fingers, and Julio and Diana both sported custom-made blades, the former also getting his own shield.

  
  


_His family, going to **battle...**_

  
  


The specter shook the thought away, a confident smile appearing on his face as he gazed at the villagers.

**“I believe in all of you. Together, we will drive away _anyone_ who would _dare_ attack our forest or our allies!”**

The group of armored villagers shouted in unison.

The prince's grin grew as he raised the helmet over his head.

  
  


**“Now, let us not keep our adversaries waiting.”**

  
  


Placing his helmet upon his head, the prince of Subcon Forest turned in place to the direction where their enemies awaited. Together, with his people, the deceased ruler marched out of the village, heading to and through the thickening treeline ahead.

* * *

_He was nervous. He was so,_ **so** _nervous._

  
  


In all of his life, the prince of Subcon Forest had _never_ been engaged in combat, before. Sure, there was sword training, lessons about battle strategies, and countless other lessons he learned from books or his father, but the former kingdom of Subcon had always been a peaceful place, and his father had _always_ made a point to settle disputes in a civilized manner. _Not once_ had the young prince needed to march into battle and command troops.

Sure, he may be a ghost, as were his forces, but the anxiety about all of the what-ifs that could occur bubbled up inside of his currently human-shaped body.

  
  


At the very least, they weren't aiming to _kill_ anyone, just defeat them and send them back to the desert.

  
  


Nonexistent stomach churning, the human specter made a point to remind himself of this as he and the villagers closed the distance between themselves and the enemy.

Once they were close enough to their foes, the deceased prince held up a hand.

The villagers stopped in an instant.

  
  


_He could sense twenty-five souls up ahead._

  
  


A frown crossed his face. With a slight wave of his hand, the prince silently directed the villagers to hide.

Diana and Clarissa hid behind nearby trees, Julio and Zacharias moved a bit further away, creeping around to a rock and tree on the left and right, respectively. Gwendolyn circled about from tree to tree, stopping at one that would allow her to ambush the large group of combatants from behind. Horace positioned himself behind a toppled log, while Anne took cover behind a vine-covered boulder.

The prince followed Diana and Clarissa's lead, sneaking over to a nearby tree that allowed him a good view of what forces they would be dealing with.

**Twenty-five soldiers, but** _**no Cabinet Minister in sight.**_

A scowl crossed the armored specter's face; the Cabinet Minister's **cowardice** knew no bounds, if he hadn't bothered to direct his own troops along to battle.

Despite that, it was clear that the usurper was taking the initiative _somewhat_ seriously. Even if the Cabinet Minister didn't _know_ that the inhabitants of Subcon Forest were ghosts, he had definitely _seen_ how many of them were left, given the amount of times the prince had brought the _entire village_ over to the desert kingdom. Numbers-wise, even if all of the adults in the village banded together to fight, they would _still_ be outnumbered.

However, it was _painfully_ obvious that the Cabinet Minister underestimated Subcon's remaining inhabitants. Not only was there the matter of skill to consider- which the prince knew that many of Subcon's residents could _certainly_ hold their own, if push came to shove, but there was also the fact that the desert kingdom's usurper must have assumed that the desert-dwellers he _thought_ were still in the forest were too injured from escaping his troops to put up a fight.

  
  


The human ghost held back a tut. _Such an irresponsible gamble._

  
  


All matters of the Cabinet Minister's strategic shortsightedness aside, the ruler of Subcon Forest took a deep breath to help steel his nerve.

  
  


_Time to play the role of the bait._

  
  


Relaxing his expression, the armored prince stepped out from behind the tree, arms behind his back as he faced the invading soldiers.

The march of the enemy halted as they rushed to their weapons-

**“Oh, there is no need for that,”** Subcon's prince calmly stated, **“I do not have any desire to fight you.”**

The heavily-armored soldiers glanced at each other, but otherwise remained in their battle positions. From here, the human ghost couldn't even see their eyes through the visors of their helmets.

He didn't move, wanting to see what they would do, next.

  
  


After a brief moment's pause, the soldiers nodded to each other and sheathed their weapons, before standing straight, once more.

Hiding a smirk, Subcon's prince put on a gentle smile as he addressed the enemy. **“I assume the time for negotiations is well past us, is it not?”**

One of the soldiers at the front took a step forward. “Our leader does not want to negotiate,” the soldier stated. “He has declared that either you surrender, or we will take this forest by force.”

A frown, forlorn and solemn, replaced the prince's gentle smile.

  
  


**“If I am to surrender to your Cabinet Minister, I only request one thing: Please, _do not harm my people.”_**

  
  


The soldiers glanced to one another, once more, perplexed by the forest ruler's willingness to cooperate. The one at the front soon directed their attention back to the armored prince.

“No harm will come to them,” the soldier stated.

  
  


Subcon's prince let his hands fall to his sides. Yellow eyes gazed at the ground, as though he were deep in thought...

He hung his head, and held his hands up in a defeated gesture.

  
  


**“Go ahead, take me away.”**

  
  


Five of the soldiers broke off from the group, marching forwards towards the surrendering prince.

  
  


**The prince _smirked._**

  
  


A snap was heard as cloth walls sprung up from all sides, lifting the soldiers up into the trees. The group of five let out startled yells as they were hoisted into the air, struggling to free themselves from the trap.

  
  


Drawing his sword, the noble raised his blade into the air and gave his command.

  
  


_**“NOW!”**  
  
_

* * *

Subcon's line of defense unleashed their attack upon the unsuspecting soldiers.

Diana and Clarissa rushed forward, weapons in hand as they rushed straight into the fray alongside the prince. As the blacksmith and former woodcutter branched off towards different foes, the noble of the forest fixed his sights on the leader of the small, invading group of desert soldiers.

* * *

The blacksmith took on several soldiers at a time with no problem at all, wiping the floor with them all with each swing of their blade. Each blow from the soldiers was _easily_ blocked as Diana disarmed, parried, and knocked out soldier after soldier. Once the crowd they had taken on were all on the floor, they spun their sword between their fingers and gripped the hilt tightly.

“Come at me, you fiends!” they bellowed, “I will make you _rue_ the day you dared to set foot in this forest!”

Within seconds, the blacksmith darted to the next soldier that was _unfortunate_ enough to be in their sights.

  
  


Parrying a soldier's sword, Clarissa disarmed them with a swift jerk of her battle axe. She didn't hesitate as she swung the flat of the axe directly into the side of another soldier's helmet, like a mallet to a gong.

The metal of the soldier's helmet vibrated as a loud, metallic _clang_ rang out, dazing the soldier long enough for the former woodcutter to hook their leg with her own and send them toppling down onto their back. Eyes burning with glee, she rammed the handle of her weapon directly into the soldier's helmet, ensuring they took a nice nap.

She smirked, raising her head up to look at two more soldiers.

“Who's next, lads?”

* * *

Julio vaulted over the rock he was hidden behind and held his shield in front of himself, charging directly into the group of soldiers and knocking down quite a few along the way, before ramming another one up against a tree. Gripping the hilt of his blade, the gardener forced the pommel sharply through the visor of his enemy's helmet, rendering them unconscious in one blow, before he let the soldier limply drop to the forest's floor.

His sights locked onto the next soldier he needed to deal with.

"You all made a _horrible_ mistake, coming here."

  
  


Horace had surged forward some distance behind Julio, using the bottom of his halberd to ram into the visors of soldiers that the latter had toppled over. Upon reaching the end of the line, the tailor stepped onto one now-unconscious soldier's chest and used the height to leap into one of the incoming foes, bashing his shield into their helmet with a back-handed swing. The disoriented soldier soon found themselves falling onto their back as Horace landed on the ground, crouched down, and swung his halberd into the back of their legs.

"Not bad for a tailor, eh, Julio?" Horace remarked, holding off an attack from another soldier with his shield.

"Hey, we'll talk after we take out these shmucks!" the gardener called back.

Horace chuckled. "Drinks are on me, then!" he shouted, batting the soldier off with a wave of his shield.

* * *

Zacharias ran out from behind the tree they hid behind and spun their guisarme between their fingers as they rushed to a soldier wielding a spear. Gripping their weapon, the armored miller used the hook of the guisarme to catch the spear's pole and yank it from its owner's hands.

The miller and soldier paused, both staring at each other.

Zacharias grinned. With one swing, they swung their weapon about and sent the still-caught spear straight into the soldier's helmet, knocking the heavily-armored foe back further and further towards the vine-covered rock Anne had hidden behind.

  
  


_“GRAAAAAAAAAH!!!”_

With a mighty, feral roar, Anne- who had climbed on top of the massive rock- jumped into the air, her hammer high above her head, as she descended upon the soldier and slammed her weapon down upon their helmet. In seconds, the soldier dropped to their knees and fell over onto the ground, completely knocked out.

Anne and Zacharias gave each other wide grins, before they rushed into battle together, letting out war cries as they pummeled soldier after soldier into the ground.

* * *

A few soldiers had managed to get out of the fray, and immediately plotted a sneak attack to catch some of the villagers off guard. They crept their way to the trees in the back-

\- and the soldier in front was met with a mace to their helmet. The soldier flew back as Gwendolyn emerged, kicking another soldier hard against a tree as she focused on the third, dodging a slash from the combatant as she gripped her mace with both hands and swung it into her foe's gut. The force of her swing was so great, that the armor _dented_ from the blow, knocking the breath out of the soldier. While the soldier wheezed, the brief second of pause that the blow had produced gave the mason enough time to ram her forearm into the soldier's chest, knocking them to the ground.

She raised her mace above her head, and brought it down on the soldier's helmet.

* * *

The enemy stood no chance against the forest's residents. Everyone worked together to take out the remaining soldiers, while the prince of Subcon Forest was locked in fierce battle with the leader of their foes.

  
  


Their swords clashed, the metal sparking from the force of the blows as the two combatants fought. Had he still been alive, the prince had no doubt that he would be _sweating,_ his adrenaline _pumping,_ and his breathing _ragged._

He sidestepped stabs, dodged swings, parried blows, and attacked swiftly, finding his motions almost _natural._ Perhaps it was because he had died, or perhaps all of those lessons in swordplay were _finally_ paying off.

It was quite startling, to be honest.

Whatever the case, he focused _less_ on how quickly he had taken to combat, and _more_ on the enemy that he needed defeat.

  
  


Yellow eyes locked straight onto the leader of the invading soldiers as the prince swung his blade down at them, the sharpened edge striking the metal armor with enough force to push the combatant back. Rushing forwards, the prince readied for another attack-

Suddenly, the soldier in front of him slashed. Everything slowed down as the noble's eyes widened and he leaned back, sliding on his knees.

The blade just _barely_ missed his nose as he watched the sharpened metal move away, his eyes huge and mouth turned down into a fanged, startled frown.

  
  


_**Focus!** _

  
  


His brow furrowing and expression hardening, Subcon's ruler leaned to his right, placing a hand upon the firm earth of the forest floor. Shifting his weight, he used his right knee to pivot on the ground, and swept his left leg around into his enemy's right leg. The strength of his kick was enough to send his opponent flying onto their back as the ruler spun around and knelt on a knee, his left foot flat on the dirt.

There was _no hesitation_ as he launched himself forwards, swiftly placing his right foot on the soldier's armored chest and pointing the tip of his blade directly between the soldier's eyes.

  
  


_The sounds of clearly one-sided combat faded as they stared at each other for one long moment._

  
  


Slowly, the prince smiled.

  
  


**“If you are finished, I will accept your surrender, now.”**

* * *

Their victory was swift. After they had cut down the five soldiers from the clever trap, Subcon's inhabitants saw the group of soldiers out of the forest. Battered and _utterly_ defeated, the twenty-five soldiers helped support each other as they limped back to the desert to lick their wounds.

Once their enemy was out of sight, the armored ghosts all let out celebratory cheers and shouts, patting each other on the back as they returned home to the village.

The prince smiled, his sword safely sheathed as he removed his helmet and let his hair back down. His smile soon grew into a fanged grin as he removed the last of his armor and shifted back into his ghostly form, the others following suit. With a sigh, the ruler sat on a stump and smoothed out his mane.

Everyone was so upbeat. He couldn't help but smile slightly.

  
  


A sudden pat on the shoulder distracted him from the cheering as Diana nodded at him.

“You did great out there, kid,” they told the prince, taking a seat next to him.

A nervous chuckle escaped him as he rubbed the back of his head.

 **“I was decent,”** he quickly said, **“but the rest of you- heavens, you were _amazing!”_**

“Don't be modest.” The blacksmith point a finger directly at him. “You handled that whole situation like a _true_ leader. From the traps to taking down your opponent, you showed that you _knew_ how to handle combat like any good ruler would.”

The prince's glowing yellow eyes gazed out at the other ghosts, who were all still celebrating. **“I am certain that if I still had a stomach, I would have thrown up, after the battle was won,”** he commented.

“You would've gotten used to that, after a while,” Diana admitted.

Staring directly at the moon, the blacksmith's brow furrowed as their face took on a solemn expression.

“This is only the beginning," they told him, "The Cabinet Minister will _surely_ send more forces to the forest.”

**“I know.”** The specter nodded, his glowing yellow eyes moving up to look at the golden crescent in the sky. **“Right now, let us enjoy the sweet taste of victory.”**

A small chuckle came from the blacksmith as they crossed their arms. “Being honest for a moment,” they began, leaning towards the prince with an eyebrow raised in amusement, “if the _rest_ of their forces are as strong as those twenty-five soldiers, beating them won't be much of a problem.”

He widened his eyes in surprise. **“Diana!”** he gasped, **“There is no need to be so rude!”**

… He grinned slightly. **“Even if you _do_ have a point.”**

  
  


The grandparent-like blacksmith and ghostly prince both laughed, enjoying the moment of peace that they- and the villagers- had all fought for, and _won._


	10. The Hero of Subcon Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hero is born.

As the days progressed, Subcon knew relative peace. While the forest's ghostly ruler and the villagers sometimes had to defend their forest from the forces that the Cabinet Minister commanded, they found they had little trouble with fighting off the rather _sub-par_ soldiers.

One thing they had found out was that ghosts could not be hurt by _anything._ On the **rare** occasion that one of the enemy soldiers landed a hit, the ghosts had found that they felt _no pain._ With them being in their human states, seeing the villagers and prince come back from such blows aided Subcon's inhabitants _greatly_ in dissuading the enemy from attacking. They even heard murmurs from the desert soldiers about “Subcon Forest's _invincible_ army”.

_Magnificent, and absolutely spectacular!_

What was _more_ spectacular, in the maned ghost's opinion, was the fact that they had managed to drive off the enemy without causing any _casualties_ to the enemy forces.

  
  


He preferred it be that way; he wasn't sure he could stomach the idea of **killing** someone-

* * *

The prince pushed the morbid thought away as he heard the faint sound of the grandfather clock in his tree.

  
  


_Three o' clock._ And would you look at that; the children finished their homework _right on time!_

  
  


**“Is everyone finished?”** he asked, just to be certain. His glowing smile grew as he watched all of the masked spirits nod enthusiastically. **“Wonderful! Once you have put your homework safely away, you are all free to go play.”**

A huge swarm of serpentine children darted through the streets, rushing back to their tree-stump homes to put away the day's homework.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight as he summoned one of his law books, flipping it open to a page on unusual laws from other countries.

It was surprising how _happy_ the children all were, now. Had this been a few years ago, he wouldn't have believed that the children would **ever** recover from the trauma of their deaths.

A pang of sadness hit him in his spectral chest.

  
  


_They would never grow up-_

  
  


He shook his head.

The joyful spirits flew out of their homes to play, toys in their tails and homework stored away for tomorrow. He glanced over to a couple of the spirits-

Alexis and Susan were playing with their little stuffed toys. They both held out the plush animal dolls to the other, laughing silently as they gave each other a hug the best they could with their tails.

His frown turned into a reflective smile as the little ones darted about, playing with their toys and each other, just as lively in death as they were in life.

The sadness faded away into silent contentment. He went back to his book, a relaxed hum escaping from him.

  
  


_They would_ **never** _grow up,_ _but as long as they were able to be themselves, he **knew** the children would be okay._

  
  


Just as he was about to look into the laws of a small island in the middle of the ocean, he felt a tug on his arm. Glancing up, he soon noticed Denise, their tail wrapped around his arm as they pulled on it more.

**“What is it, Denise?”** the ghost asked, closing his book for the moment.

The masked spirit released his arm and floated down to the ground, lifting up an old, wooden toy sword with their tail.

  
  


_I want to fight!_

  
  


His glowing eyes widened in surprise. **“Oh, little one...”** he murmured, gently patting the child's head with a talon-like finger. **“It is too _dangerous_ for you to fight the enemy-”**

A shake of the masked ghost's head silenced the specter momentarily.

  
  


_No, I want to fight you!_

  
  


... Ah, so _that_ was it.

  
  


**“You wish to fight _me?”_** he asked, an amused smile on his face as he snapped his fingers and made the book vanish. **“Well, if you insist!”**

Snatching up a nearby branch, the ghostly monarch rid it of any sharp points or smaller twigs. While he was _pretty sure_ the children couldn't be harmed by a stick, he'd rather be safe than sorry.

**“... Ah, it would not be fair if I fought in such a _tall_ form,”** he soon realized, his mouth turning into a straight, thin line.

Even Denise, though confident in their own abilities, recognized the unfair advantage the giant specter had over them.

His eyes closed into thin, yellow lines, as he pondered for a good twenty seconds or so.

  
  


_… Well, it couldn't hurt if he made sure to take a **few** extra precautions..._

  
  


The spectral ruler pictured the manor's entrance, using his telekinesis to bring more snow down upon it. With intense focus, he pushed the cold, white powder up against the doors, compacting it tightly enough that even Vanessa wouldn't be able to force the doors open.

The specter nodded to himself, content with the work he had done. His yellow, glowing, oval-shaped eyes opened back up, scanning the immediate vicinity.

  
  


_No statues in sight._ Not that he needed to worry; they **never** came around the village, anyway.

  
  


Denise tilted their head, perplexed by what the ghostly ruler was doing.

  
  


The prince glanced down at the masked and gave the masked child a fanged grin. **“Do not worry; I have an idea!”**

In an instant, he shaped-shifted down into his human form. The masked ghost flipped in excitement, eager to have a fight with the now-human specter.

Twirling the branch, the young prince stood tall and tossed the branch into the air, catching it swiftly with his left hand. He held his makeshift blade upright, neatly separating his face into two halves from the angle Denise was floating at.

**“I do believe the challenger gets the first strike,”** he politely suggested.

* * *

  
  


In an instant, the spirited child darted towards the prince, flipping around to swing their toy sword with all of their might.

  
  


_For a brief second, he_ **swore** _he could hear the child let out a mighty yell._

  
  


He chuckled, quickly blocking the blow with the branch, point downwards and his right hand held above his head. He allowed the child to push him back with a few intercepted blows. A playfully confident grin spread across his purple face as he gently pushed the child back with a few swings of his own.

The back-and-forth of swings progressed as the other children took notice of the battle. Eager to watch, the little ones gathered on top of the tree-stump homes, observing the ensuing sword fight with childish excitement.

A sidestep allowed the prince to avoid a swipe from his younger adversary. The human specter jabbed at them swiftly, but not _too_ fast. The young spirit flew to the side, before swinging their blade at the human specter's head. He swiftly ducked, rolling backwards onto his feet.

  
  


**“Excellent move, Denise!”** he praised, yellow eyes _gleaming_ with joy at the child's quick thinking.

  
  


Despite the pride that emanated from the child due to his praise, Denise's masked eyes seemed to stare at him with a ferocity that- while not visible- was _palpable._

The prince yelped as the child suddenly swung at him again, _barely_ blocking the blow with the branch. The masked child's silent words were easily sensed by the human ghost.

  
  


_Silence, fiend! I, the hero of Subcon Forest, will defeat you!_

  
  


Fiend?-

_Ahh,_ **that's** _what was going on._ Denise always _did_ enjoy rushing in and beating the **heck** out of him with that toy sword, back when they were alive...

  
  


_… Well, who was he to ruin someone's fun?_

  
  


Putting on a playfully evil grin, his yellow eyes narrowed to help give him a smug, evil expression as he stepped back, swinging his branch at the child to force them further away. As Denise flipped backwards to avoid the swipe, he flashed his teeth and let out a booming laugh.

  
  


**“AHAHAHAHAHA! _FOOL!”_** roared the prince, **“Do you really think you can defeat _ME!?”_**

  
  


… He felt _very_ cheesy, but if it made the kid happy, that was all that mattered.

  
  


The other children shook, giggling silently at their prince's villainous act.

He could feel the resolute air emanating from the child as they gripped their sword tightly with their tail and rushed at him. He ran forward to meet them, their wooden weapons clashing as they slashed and stabbed at one another, both of them dodging and parrying the other's blows as they traveled throughout the village.

The yelling and evil cackling _immediately_ caught the attention of the adults of the village, who watched the fight with amused interest.

* * *

“Quite a character, isn't he?” Maurice remarked as they gave the topaz they were working on a nice little facet.

“Not very _refined,_ if you ask me,” Zacharias joked, grinning as they leaned back against a stump.

“Oh, let them both have their fun,” Diana chastised with a chuckle. “His Highness _definitely_ deserves it.”

Horace finished stitching up a sleeve to a new dress, a smile clear on his face as he glanced at the prince and child. “Remember when they used to play like this, back in the day?” he asked Ophelia, the latter kneading some dough as the tailor spoke. “He was _just_ as dramatic when he played the villain as he is, now!”

Ophelia giggled, shaking her head as she glanced in the direction of the child and prince, locked in playful swordplay. “Oh, I do remember," the baker reminisced, "He always _was_ good at pretending to be a villain. Such a sweetheart, that boy...”

* * *

Oblivious to the other adults and their remarks, the prince focused _all_ of his attention on his faux fight with the masked spirit. Gracefully, he hopped backwards onto a nearby stump, avoiding another one of Denise's swings as he placed a foot behind him and his other foot forward. With his stance solid and steady, he flashed another fanged grin.

**“Come on, _little hero!”_** he jokingly taunted, swinging his branch-sword out to the side. **_“Surely_ you can do better than _that!”_**

Denise _charged_ at him, slicing and slashing as their toy sword collided with the prince's branch. He took it all in stride, parrying with ease.

  
  


_... Heavens, he was having fun! So was Denise, he could easily perceive!_

  
  


**“Is that all?”** His evil grin grew as he pretended to mock the little one. **“I thought the so-called _'hero'_ of Subcon Forest would be more of a challenge!”**

Without warning, the prince jabbed his weapon forwards, making sure to move slowly enough so the child could dodge.

Sure enough, the masked spirit spun over the blade, and flew over the prince's head.

The prince whipped around, just barely crouching in time as the child's sword swung down from above with great force.

**“Ah-!”** the specter cried out, brow furrowing upwards as defended himself. He closed his eyes as he blocked another blow, the child flying up just out of reach.

**“Denise, flying is not fa- ha ha! _-air!”_** he laughed, momentarily dropping his nefarious façade.

  
  


_The human specter could hear Denise giggling as they lowered themselves back down and resumed their offensive pursuit._

  
  


Swift on his feet, figuratively _and_ literally, the ruler of the forest got back into character and jumped up over the masked spirit's blade as they swung it as his legs. Once his feet had landed back on the stump, he exchanged a few more blows, walking around the edge of the natural platform. Denise stayed directly in front of the fake villain, floating around as they spun and sliced and slashed, blocking his blows and parrying him with playfully furious strikes.

The prince matched the child's skill in swordsmanship, all they while laughing in a false-malicious manner as he battled his young enemy-

_He was caught off-guard as the young child managed to deflect his blade, leaving the spectral ruler's defenses open for a brief second._

A loud, fierce cry escaped the child as they poked the fake villain's chest with the edge of their toy blade.

  
  


_He was surprised, and yet, at the same time, he could feel his nonexistent heart **burst** with happiness at how the little one had managed to beat him._

  
  


Not one to abandon his act so easily, the prince clutched his currently-human chest with his right hand. He let out a gasp as he dropped the branch, his left hand flying up to join his right.

 **“How can this be!?”** he yelled, stepping back as he fake-coughed. He leaned back, turning his head away from the child as he pressed the back of his right hand against his forehead. Hiding the smile on his face was _impossible;_ the child's elation from winning the fight was _contagious!_

Nonetheless, he pretended to lament his defeat, his face still hidden from the child as he bent further away. **“Bested by a- a _kid!”_**

  
  


The adults all glanced over at the prince in surprise.

In all honesty, _he was just as surprised as them!_ Normally, “child” was the word he used. And yet, saying “kid” felt more... _right,_ in this situation.

  
  


Nonetheless, he didn't let his surprise make his villainous act falter as he faked a loud groan of pain, straightening up slightly to keep his balance. He _glared_ at Denise with pretend fury on his face, a growl escaping from his lips. **“You truly _are_ the most _powerful_ person in _all of the world!”_**

Denise confidently flipped in the air, their toy sword still held by their tail. Happiness was practically _surging_ from the child as they floated above the stump.

  
  


_Oh, that was enough to **warm his soul.**_

  
  


He lurched back, another strained gasp escaping from him as he stepped back further, his heel over the edge of the trunk.

**_“Curse you, hero of Subcon!”_** he hissed.

As he played out the fake death scene, _he couldn't hide the hint of a smile on his face._

Moving his other foot backwards, he allowed gravity to take control, his body pulled down as his feet lost contact with the wooden stump.  
  


_**“CURSE YOU!!!”** _

  
  


The prince landed on the ground below, his back flat against the firm earth. With a final gurgle, the prince let out his last breath, his hands sliding off of his chest.

Within seconds, the serpentine child raised their sword in the air in victory.

As he played dead on the ground, the prince could tell the child was letting out a triumphant cry. Cheers erupted form the other ghost children as they surrounded Denise, each one silently congratulating the victor.

His hint of a smile grew a bit, before he relaxed his expression and did his best to make it _appear_ as though he were dead. He didn't want to ruin the moment by getting up.

  
  


That, plus he just had a **nefarious** idea.

  
  


Laying still on the ground, he sensed Denise floating over to him. He held back the grin that threatened to form as the child poked his leg. After a moment, the serpentine spirit floated over to his face, confused by his lack of movement.

  
  


Instantly, the prince's eyes _snapped open_ as he wrapped his arms around the child, pinning them against his chest. The yelp of surprise from the child was easy for the prince to sense.

_**“Got you!”**_ he howled, his wicked laugh echoing throughout the village.

As Denise struggled to free themselves, the prince sensed one of the children-

  
  


Anthony was yelling _something_ to the other children.

  
  


_Get him!_

  
  


His eyes widened, his false-malevolent, gleeful expression changing into an open-mouthed display of surprise. A started yell escaped from the prince as he was _buried_ underneath a pile of ghostly children.

So surprised was the human ghost, that he released little Denise, who flew up and landed on top of the pile of screaming children. His head free from the pile of children, he could see the winner of the battle raise their toy sword into the air. The joyous air emanating from their very being allowed the words the little one was unable to say to be perceived by the forest's ruler.

  
  


_Victory!_

  
  


… He snorted, before breaking out into booming, joyous laughter.

* * *

_The moon hung high over the sky as the grandfather clock chimed nine times, signifying the older children's bedtime._

  
  


The children had all come together to go on an adventure- under the prince's supervision, of course- and protect the forest from any _scoundrel_ that dared threaten it.

Naturally, he played the role of the villain. _One_ good thing about being a ghost was that it was a _lot_ harder to get tired from fake sword-fighting. Although he had been thoroughly beaten by the children many times, over the course of the last several hours or so.

  
_He wouldn't have it any other way._   
  


Everyone had so much fun, that he had _almost_ been afraid that the children wouldn't want to stop playing when it was bedtime. It was **important** that they stick to a schedule, after all.

Fortunately, he learned that ghosts _did_ get tired, eventually- at the very least, when it was time to put the younger children to bed, they were all tuckered out and ready for some sleep.

The older children were more resistant, despite their exhaustion. Nonetheless, he tutted and sent them all off to bed, telling them that even heroes needed to sleep _every_ night, and **“How are you supposed to defeat the** _ **terrifying fiends**_ **that roam the forest when you are too tired to keep your eyes open?”**

After he said that, the older children had all eagerly- if a bit sleepily- let themselves be put to bed.

  
  


Now back in his ghostly form, the prince glided through the village, heading towards his tree home to get some rest. He soon stopped, however, upon spotting little Denise sitting on the stump they had fought upon, their old wooden sword still wrapped up in their spectral tail.

Slowly, he floated over. **“Denise, what are you still doing up?”** the forest's ruler curiously inquired.

The child spirit slowly turned their head towards the ghostly prince. Despite the mask on their face, it was apparent to the maned specter that the child was quite exhausted as he sensed a silent response come from them.

  
  


_I'm keeping watch...!_

  
His glowing mouth transformed into a soft smile as he sat down next to the masked spirit. **“You know, a good hero knows when it is time to rest,”** he quietly pointed out.

Denise shook their head sluggishly.

  
  


_I need to keep watch for bad guys..._

  
  


The royal specter's smile faded slightly. **“You cannot keep watch if you are sleepy, little one,”** he told them.

  
  


_Yes I can..._

  
  


His figurative brow furrowed, his mind working hard to figure out how to get the child to bed...

Suddenly, he smirked.

  
  


“ **Well, I can tell you one thing for a fact, _kid...”_**

  
  


Denise looked up at him in tired surprise.

  
  


“ **... The only bad guy in the forest, right now, _is me!”_**

  
  


All of a sudden, he hoisted the little spirit up into the air, pinning them against his chest like he did earlier in the day.

  
  


**“And now that you are trapped, you are _defenseless_ against me!”**

  
  


_Noooooooo!_

  
  


The prince let out a fake evil chuckle as he floated into the air, Denise softly and slowly hitting the specter's chest with their sword as he went.

“ **See? You are too** _ **exhausted**_ **to hurt me!”** he quietly laughed, **“How do you expect to win in such a state?”**

  
  


Finally, the masked child relented, their tail hanging down with their toy weapon still wrapped around it.

  
  


… _'m gonna beat you..._

  
  


Another soft, faux-wicked laugh escaped the prince.

“ **If you want to have _any_ chance of defeating a villain like me-”**

He grinned at the child, who was looking up at him.

“ **\- then you need to _sleep,_ so you will be wide awake and ready to fight by the time your homework is done, tomorrow.”**

  
  


Denise spent a moment pondering whether or not they should listen.

  
  


“ **If you do not,”** the ghostly prince soon added, stopping suddenly as he waved his clawed fingers in a menacing manner, **“then I will carry you back to my lair and** _ **lock you away forever!”**_

  
  


_Never...!_

  
  


The shadowy phantom chuckled. **“So, will you go to bed?”**

  
  


Slowly but surely, the little one nodded.

  
  


… _Mmhm..._

  
  


Instantly, the faux-evil look on his face vanished as he continued on his way, a quiet, cheerful laugh escaping him.

Denise's head drooped, before they tried to snap to attention.

  
  


… _I wanna talk to the good prince..._

  
  


He raised a figurative eyebrow, before chuckling as he realized what they meant. **“What is it, Denise?”** asked the specter.

  
  


_Will you always be around to play the bad guy...?_

  
  


His fanged smile grew. **“Of course, little one,”** he told them.

  
  


… _Will you still be the good guy that... that protects us, too...?_

  
  


… His expression softened, his smile vanishing for a moment in confusion, before returning as he nodded in response.

 **“I will** _ **always**_ **be around,”** he told the sleepy child. **“Whether I am your prince, doing my duties to keep you all safe and happy, or playing the role of a** _ **nefarious villain**_ **you must defeat, I will always be here for _all of you.”_**

  
  


_Do you promise...?_

  
  


He placed his free hand against his maned chest, looking the child directly into their masked eyes.

“ **I promise you that I will _always_ be here for you.”**

  
  


… Gradually, the masked spirit placed their head on the maned ghost's shoulder.

He could sense Denise starting to drift off to sleep.

  
  


… _'m gonna beat you, tomorrow..._

  
  


The prince chuckled, gently holding the child against his chest as he approached the little one's home.

 **“Oh, you really think you can defeat me** _ **again,**_ **hm?”** he teased, though his tone was more soft and amused than villainous. **“I hope you can prove that last time was** _ **not**_ **a fluke!”**

  
  


The spirit slowly started feeling heavy. The last thing the prince sensed from them before they slipped into sleep was one _very_ exhausted statement:

  
  


_I will..._

  
  


About a second later, he felt Denise go limp against him. Somehow, the little one's tail still clutched their toy blade.

He opened the door to the house, taking advantage of his thin arms to reach in and pull back the covers on a small bed. Tentatively, the specter managed to free the toy sword from the child's grasp with his free hand, placing it down on a table nearby.

Taking care not to jostle the child awake, the prince laid Denise down upon the bed, before pulling the covers back up to the bottom of the little one's mask. His glowing eyes and fanged grin softened as he smiled at the child, petting their head gently with one of his talons.

  
  


_He sensed the little one letting out a content sigh as they curled up underneath the blanket._

  
  


Like a loving parent, the ghostly prince pulled his arms back out of the tree-stump home and slowly closed the door- but not before bidding the child goodnight with one simple sentence.

  
  


**“Sleep well, little hero.”**


	11. The Hero's Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ones we love are our greatest heroes.

The eternal night of Subcon persisted as the weeks passed by. Subcon Village knew peace in those days, and the period of rest from battle with their desert foes was welcomed with open arms.

  
  


As the days went by, the prince couldn't help but wonder if they actually _managed_ to take out most of the Cabinet Minister's army. Unlikely, of course- and he kept a careful eye out for any new souls entering the forest, but the thought lingered in his mind while he spent many a day helping the adults around the village with their daily tasks.

What time he didn't spend working, he spent reading or playing with the children. The joy that filled his entire being when he saw the little ones _bursting_ with energy and creativity seemed endless. It was impossible for the ghostly monarch to _not_ reminisce about the days when everyone was alive; if he was being honest, he had difficulty not comparing the time he spent amusing the children through games and tales with the memories he had of himself and his parents doing the same things.

  
  


_All of those happy times they had spent playing in the castle and the forest, the playful sword fights and nights they spent stargazing..._

  
  


Perhaps, tonight, he'd relax the schedule a bit to take the children stargazing. The top of his tree had _plenty_ of leafy branches to use a telescope, and there _was_ that odd mushroom that was starting to get bigger than the rest...

  
  


A quick shake of his head brought the prince back to reality.

His currently-human face contorted back into a playfully malevolent expression as he swung a branch around, spinning on a heel to force his “enemies” back- said foes being some of the children, all sporting branches except for one, who held a distinctive toy sword in their tail.

A maniacal laugh escaped from him as he stepped across the lattice of branches above his tree home.

  
  


**“You stand no chance against me!”**

* * *

The game had begun when little Susan had flown up the tree, mesmerized by the colorful little mushrooms growing all over it. The little one had spotted one of the bigger ones and decided it would make a nice place to sit.

Unfortunately, that was the moment she learned that the mushrooms could _bounce._

The glowing fungus sent the unaware child **hurtling** through the branches and up into the higher parts of the tree, thanks to her lighter weight. She was so startled by this, that she found herself _too afraid_ to fly back down.

_She was always afraid of heights, the poor thing._

Denise- _bless their heart-_ happened to be in the midst of exploring, their little toy sword tight in their tail's grasp, when they heard Susan crying up in the trees. Being the eager little hero they were, the sword-toting child wasted no time in climbing up the tree to Susan's aid.

  
  


Just as they had reached the branch Susan was on, Denise's sword slipped out of their tail and fell onto the ground below.

The loss of their weapon _instantly_ alerted Denise to the height they were at, and soon enough, they huddled up with Susan, small tears gathering in their mask's eyes.

Fortunately for the children, Subcon's ruler happened to be floating by to grab a few books, when he sensed their cries from below. Craning his head back, he soon spotted the children shivering on a branch high up.

His glowing eyes went wide with worry as he darted into the air.

  
  


His chest _tightened._

  
  


_It_ **hurt** _to see the children frightened._

  
  


**“Denise, Susan, are you two all right!?”** he immediately asked, landing on the branch just below them.

The instant the two children spotted him, they had two _very_ different responses. Susan's response was to immediately bawl, both relieved to see the specter and at the same time, _utterly terrified._ Denise was a bit braver, though they still trembled as their tears dripped down their mask.

  
  


_I lost my sword...! We can't get down, now!_

  
  


_Oh, the poor things._ They may be able to _fly,_ but that didn't fully eliminate their fear of heights.

  
  


Smiling gently, the prince clasped his hands together as he gazed up at the two. **“I know, this must be very scary for you two,”** he soothingly murmured, **“but do not worry; I will-”**

He felt something hit his tail.

He was so _focused_ on Denise and Susan, he didn't sense little Anthony fly up to him. Slowly, the ghost turned around and raised a figurative eyebrow.

  
  


**“Anthony, what are you doing?”** the maned ghost inquired.

Anthony held up a toy sword- Denise's toy sword- and pointed it at the prince.

  
  


_Villain! How dare you take our friends hostage!?_

  
  


… Oh, if only Denise and Susan weren't so upset; this was so _precious!_

  
  


**“A-Anthony, I do not think now is a-”**

The specter was cut off when he noticed Susan's sobbing started to quiet, and the anxiety emanating from Denise lessening.

  
  


Perhaps... this could help them feel a bit better?

Well, if it would, he was **more** than willing to try it!

  
  


An evil, smug grin appeared on his face as he summoned a branch to his hand. In an instant, his form changed to his more humanoid one as he stared down little Anthony.

**“Well, well, well...”** he chuckled, holding the branch out in front of himself. **“A _new_ hero has arrived to fight me. How amusing...”**

With Denise's sword in hand, Anthony flipped into the air and swung the wooden blade in response.

  
  


_I will defeat you, and free my friends!_

  
  


Twirling the branch in his hand, the human specter flashed his teeth in a nefarious grin. **“You may certainly _try!”_** he laughed.

  
  


The two had engaged in playful combat, stepping- or in Anthony's case, _floating-_ across the branches as their weapons clashed.

Some of the other children took notice of the fight, and as the currently-human prince played the role of the villain, he didn't notice them floating about below.

Eventually, the “villain” of the game managed to corner Anthony on the edge of a branch.

  
  


**“It looks like this is the end for you, kid!”** the prince remarked, a fake evil laugh coming from him.

  
  


Just as it seemed like all hope was lost, the prince happened to glance to the side and noticed another child- Logan- darting forward with a small twig in his tail.

Quick to respond, the prince stepped back to avoid the sudden attack. He soon straightened up, taking a defensive stance.

**“Come to help your friend, have you?”** He flashed another grin as his brow furrowed, providing the “villainous” prince with the proper look to match his act. **“Surely you cannot expect to defeat me by yourselves!”**

That was when he sensed more of the children flying up, branches in hand- er, tail. Five children total in the game: Anthony, Logan, Julia, Francisca, and Chris.

Joy filling his soul, the prince _wholeheartedly_ accepted the new little heroes, and resumed his faux-malevolent role.

**“ _All five_ of you wish to fight me? Well, who am I to deny some _foolish_ heroes a sporting chance?”**

He spun the branch once more, before getting back into a stance.

  
  


_**“Have at you!”** _

* * *

To think, two children getting stuck in a tree led to a whole _sword fight_ against five children!

But he took it all in stride, allowing himself to use more of his skill due to the number of his young opponents. Loud, sinister laughter escaped the prince as he fought off the children's attempts with ease, jumping from branch to branch as he dodged their swings.

**“Foolish children!** ” he bellowed with a vile smirk, waving a hand up to the two children watching intently from the branch they were “trapped” upon. **“How will you defeat me, now that I have captured Subcon Forest's greatest hero!?”**

  
  


Denise perked up instantly, a sudden energy filling the little one's being.

Anthony glanced up at the fellow child perched on the branch above them. It was as though the metaphorical gears in his masked head sprung into high gear as he realized something he could do to turn the tides.

With a quick flip, the child tossed Denise's toy sword up to its owner, surprising both the ghostly child that caught their weapon and the “villain” of the fight, who quickly sidestepped to avoid the toy sword.

**“Was that supposed to hit me?”** the prince pretended to taunt, **“Your aim is terrible!-”**

  
  


_He sensed a loud yell coming from behind._

  
  


The prince turned about, glancing up to see Denise spinning through the air, their wooden blade tightly in their tail's grasp, as they swung it down at him. Instinct made him whip his branch up above his head to block the blow, while Anthony flew down to grab a new weapon to fight with.

  
  


_If he had a heart, still, it would've **burst** from Anthony's selfless display, and little Denise's renewed courage._

  
  


**“WHAT!?”** he yelled, hopping back onto a different branch as he feigned fury. **“How can this be!?”**

Denise spun in the air, pointing their wooden blade at the villain. Anthony soon joined them, a small twig serving as their new sword, as the other children with weapons congregated around the two.

  
  


_I am free, once more! Together, we will defeat you!_

  
  


Keeping in-character, the prince furrowed his brow with fiendish resolve, his smug grin returning. **“It matters not,”** he coolly replied, **“You may be greater in _numbers,_ but today is the day that you will know defeat!”**

  
  


With that, their game evolved into a frenzy of dodged blows and deflected swings as Subcon's ruler defended himself from the children's attacks.

The children, however, had a few tricks up their sleeve.

All of a sudden, Denise and Logan tossed their blades to each other, each on taking hold of their new weapons as they resumed their attacks.

  
  


**“This cannot be possible!”** roared the "villain", fake anger spreading across his face as he now had to go wholly on the defensive.

The children's cooperation didn't end there, either. Soon, Logan gave the blade to Francisca, who took to the lead as she _fiercely_ slashed at the villainous prince. She quickly handed the sword off to Chris, who then swapped with Julia...

All of the children took turns with the weapon as they delivered blow after blow to the human specter, who continued to feign shock and anger as he lost ground upon the branches.

  
  


Secretly, he felt like he could _cry_ at the adorable display of teamwork.

  
  


Finally, the toy blade returned to Denise's tail as all six of the children pointed their weapons at their spectral prince.

  
  


**“No-!”**

  
  


They struck, flying forwards to prod the “villain” in the chest. As he was poked by the blades, the prince flailed his arms as he lost balance, his feet slipping off of the branch as he fell.

  
  


_**“NO!!!”** _

  
  


His yellow eyes gazed up as he screamed, spotting the triumphant children up above all staring at him.

  
  


Images flashed through his mind.

  
  


_He wondered if he would have felt this much joy at being defeated so_ **thoroughly,** _if he had fought in faux-combat with the child **he would never get the chance to have.**_

  
  


His expression changed from false fury to genuine surprise at the thought, his eyes widening as sadness overtook the playful glint.

  
  


_What would it have been like, if he had been a father...? If he had a child...?_

  
  


A tear flew up from the corner of his eye.

  
  


He saw Denise stare down at him.

_They saw his face._ He could _sense_ that they knew the expression **_wasn't an act._**

  
  


_… They all had defeated the nefarious villain._ **They were all so proud.**

  
  


_What was he talking about?_ **They** _were his children._

  
  


… A content smile appeared on his face as he closed his eyes.

  
  


**_He was so proud of them._ **

  
  


A giant splash signified the end of the prince's fall as he crashed into the pool of water below, his much lighter weight causing him to quickly resurface on his back. Not bothering to move, he spit out some water like a fountainhead until his mouth was clear, his eyes opening halfway as he allowed himself to float.

  
  


_Heck, he loved these kids._

  
  


The human specter blinked away the tears in his eyes as he pulled himself out of the pool of clear water, dragging the drenched branch out of the pool and carefully tossing it across the ground. As his gaze went back up to the tree, he soon spotted the children flying down, Denise carefully floating to the ground with Susan clinging tightly to them.

  
  


The smile on his face grew _enormously._

* * *

It took him some time to get dried off, after his fall into the pool, but _eventually_ he was able to get even his purple hair back to a non-drenched state. As the grandfather clock chimed seven times, the phantom entertained the little ones with a story he recalled from his youth.

  
  


**“So, there I was, a young lad of about seventeen or so,”** he recalled, his now-ghostly form sat in his plush chair as he told the children perched around him the tale. **“I was wandering through the forest, when I suddenly heard a cry ring out. Naturally, I rushed to investigate, concerned about whoever might have made the frantic noise."**

His hands motioned with great enthusiasm as he narrated the events to the children. **"There, stuck and slowly sinking in the mud of the swamp, was one of the members of the _other_ king and queen's court.”**

He could immediately _feel_ the collective gasps from the children. The fanged smile on his face grew into a grin as he clasped his hands together, continuing the story with great glee.

**“He was _flailing_ and _screaming_ for help, the poor guy. I acted quickly, grabbing a long branch and holding it out for the noble to take. 'Here, grab on!' I yelled, doing my best to reach the man with that small lifeline.”**

  
  


It was there he paused for dramatic effect, raising a talon-like finger up as he glanced at the children.

  
  


**“Suddenly, the ground underneath my foot gave in, and I fell _straight_ into the muck!”**

  
  


He could hear the silent giggling coming from the children.

  
  


**“Hey! Why are you laughing, hm?”** he asked, faux-annoyance on his face, but his smile giving away his amusement. **“It was _very_ serious, at the time!”**

The little ones' laughter didn't cease; eventually, he chuckled a bit, himself.

**“Anyway!”** he soon continued, the children's laughter ceasing as they listened aptly. **“We were b _oth_ stuck, sinking down further and _further_ into the swamp. I tried my best to grab onto _anything_ I could, but any hope of salvation was _just_ out of my reach. Then, just when I thought that there was no hope for either of us-”**

  
  


He held up a hand, moving it from one side to the other slightly for dramatic effect.

  
  


**“- my father appeared. He took one look at the two of us and shook his head in disappointment. With one hand on our arms, he lifted us _effortlessly_ out of the swamp, and carried us back to the bridge!”**

The ghostly ruler held a hand against his mane, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face. **“I was in _awe,_ children,”** he told the masked spirits, **“My father had pulled a grown adult _and_ a seventeen-year-old prince out of the mud _at the same time,_ like it was _nothing!”_**

Each child stared at him, silent awe not going unseen. The shadowy specter smiled at the children as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together slightly. **“We walked into the village, the noble and I caked with mud, and my father- not amused at the time, mind you- marching through with _such a look on his face,_ that _no one_ in the village stared at us for more than a few seconds.”**

A sigh escaped him. **“I got such a scolding, back at the castle.”** He paused, before shaking with laughter. **“And so did that poor court noble-!”**

  
  


A booming laugh soon filled the tree home as Subcon's prince remembered the look on the noble's face as his father had _scolded_ the court member for falling into the swamp.

**“Oh, _heavens,_ he looked like a fish out of water! His eyes were so huge they were practically- practically _bulging_ out of his face- _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”_**

  
  


He could hear the children _screaming with laughter_ around him.

  
  


It took them all a good few minutes to calm down. But, eventually, the prince wiped the humored tears from his eyes as the laughter died down to giggling. **“And _that_ is how my father ended up dragging us both out of the swamp.”**

The children shook slightly, still calming down from laughing so much. The sight made the ghostly ruler smile.

  
  


He made the _intentional_ effort to leave out the detail where he fell flat on his face in the mud. _They didn't need to know about that._

  
  


Glancing at the clock, the prince hummed in thought as he stroked his mane. **“Let me see... I believe I have a few more stories I could tell, before it is your bedtime-”**

  
  


He _froze._

  
  


**_A massive group of people just entered the forest._ **

  
  


**“Children, we need to get to the village,”** he stressed.

The urgency in his tone alerted the children to the situation almost immediately. In less than a second, the seven children and their prince were out of the tree and flying through the air towards Subcon Village.

  
  


_**“TO ARMS!”** _

  
  


The villagers knew this song and dance well enough to _instantly_ bolt out of their homes, gathering the children up to whisk them off to the well.

  
  


_WAIT!_

  
  


The prince paused, sensing the cry from one of the children. He turned to see little Denise flying over to him, their tiny toy sword in their grasp.

**“Denise, what are you-”**

  
  


The child held out the toy sword for him to take.

He accepted it, albeit perplexed by the offer.

  
  


_You need it more than I do. You're bad at fighting, and I keep beating you with it. Plus, it's a hero's sword, and you're a hero!_

  
  


… Heck, _he couldn't say no._

  
  


**“Oh, Denise...”** the prince murmured, smiling thoughtfully at the little one as he pat their head. **“Thank you. We will _surely_ be victorious, now that we have the sword of Subcon's greatest hero!”**

  
  


There were no words to describe the _pure joy_ he felt at seeing the child flip into the air from his remark.

  
  


**“Now, hurry to the well; we will be back before you know it!”**

  
  


Quickly nodding, Denise darted back to catch up with the other children.

Subcon's prince glanced down at the wooden sword in his clawed hand, a gentle, fanged smile on his face as he shifted into his human form for the second time that day. Wordlessly, he latched the tiny blade onto the back of his armor's belt as he put the protective gear on.

  
  


_It would serve as a reminder of what they were all fighting for._

  
  


Just as he placed his helmet upon his head, he heard Frederick's voice in the distance.

“Your Highness, wait!”

The prince whipped his head in the direction of the call, soon spotting the schoolteacher flying over. Wrapped up in Frederick's arms were dozens upon dozens of vials, each containing some odd, blue liquid.

The grin on the scientist's face was _gigantic_ as he carefully handed off some of the bottles to the ruler. “I've finished my project!” he announced. “These potions will come in handy for your fight!”

The prince held up one of the vials, carefully swirling the liquid inside around as he examined the contents.

**“That is wonderful, Frederick!”** Subcon's monarch exclaimed, a rather confused smile on his face. **“Er... what exactly _is_ this...?”**

Frederick handed off more of the potions to the villagers that were heading into the coming battle, explaining as he went. “They're explosive potions! Not big explosions, or _dangerous_ ones, necessarily, but they'll be enough to rattle the enemy's forces!”

  
  


_Ah!_ Quite handy!

  
  


The prince's confused smile turned into a confident one as he gently pat the schoolteacher's shoulder. **“Wonderful! Thank you, Frederick!”** the armored noble replied, hooking some of the potions onto the belt with the toy. **“I cannot wait to see them in action.”**

With a swift nod, Frederick handed off the remaining potions to the others and returned the shoulder pat. “Best of luck, out there!” he exclaimed, before darting away.

  
  


He _dead stopped,_ flying back even more quickly than he had left. “Oh, I almost forgot; _be careful that **none** of it gets on you!”_ the schoolteacher cautioned.

The question that popped into the human specter's mind was almost instantly answered a second later by the scientist.

“I learned the hard way when I was testing the substance; if that potion gets on you, it does not _hurt,_ but _other_ things can hurt you,” warned Frederick.

Yellow eyes wide, the prince exhaled slightly as he managed a smile, nodding at the schoolteacher with gratitude. **“We will be careful,”** the prince told him.

  
  


Having done what he meant to do, Frederick flew off towards the well as the prince of the forest turned to the villagers that would head into battle with him. In an instant, the noble unsheathed his blade as a serious expression appeared beneath his helm.

  
  


**“Everyone, prepare for battle!”**

* * *

_This wasn't supposed to happen._

  
  


_He couldn't_ **move.**

  
  


_A metal boot on his chest and a blade_ **inches** _from his purple neck._

  
  


_The soldier stared down at him._

  
  


**His own sword was** _**out of reach.**_

  
  


_**This wasn't supposed to happen.** _

* * *

They had marched into battle, weapons at the ready and vials of Frederick's potions on their belts as they engaged their desert-dwelling enemies. The potions had proven **extremely** useful; tossing the vials about caused the soldiers to scatter, or be knocked unconscious from the ensuing explosions.

While his people were engaged with the enemy in precarious combat, he had been separated from them as the rush of swordplay against the invading force's armored leader distracted him from where he was going. Their blades clashed violently against each other as they spun about and avoided the trees, eyes locked onto each other no matter how they ducked and dodged strikes and slices.

  
  


Just as the prince had rolled backwards to avoid a downward strike from the enemy, the vial of potion _broke against a rock._

Surprisingly, rather than _exploding violently,_ the potion covered him in blue goop.

Both combatants had ceased fighting for a brief moment as they processed what just happened.

  
  


The prince had glanced down at the substance that now coated his armor, and parts of what was exposed of his face. His mind was blank for a few seconds, before the realization hit him.

  
  


_Frederick told him not to get covered in the substance._

  
  


_Oh, no._

  
  


His yellow eyes widened in horror.

  
  


**Oh, no...!**

  
  


Subcon's ruler swiftly got onto his feet, gripping his blade tightly as he pointed it at his foe. _He would just have to end this quickly-_

His foe recovered from their surprise, and charged at him, slashing at the startled prince endlessly and with great ferocity. It took the ruler of the forest _all of his strength_ to block the blows, stepping backwards as his opponent took to the offensive.

  
  


_He had to do someth-_

  
  


Without warning, the combatant **bashed** into the prince with their shield hard enough to send him flying straight into the trunk of a tree.

He _wheezed_ in pain.

  
  


_… Pain?_

  
  


Horror etched onto his face, the noble's pupils became pinpricks as **searing pain** shot through his back.

  
  


_He could feel pain. The ruler had almost **hoped** Frederick would be wrong about the potions._

**But he was right.** **Being coated in the potions _could_ make you _feel pain._**

  
  


Metal boots rushing across the ground snapped the prince back to reality as he scrambled to the left, barely missing the blade that _embedded itself in the trunk he had been resting upon,_ **just seconds before.** His back **screamed** at him, the pain so _unfamiliar_ to the human specter after having spent so long not being able to feel _almost anything._ It was **_agonizing-_**

  
  


_Focus! There's still danger!_

  
  


Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain shooting through his back and took another stance, brow furrowed in concentration as he faced his opponent once more.

He yelled, rushing to meet the desert soldier's blade with his own.

  
  


The fight continued, intense as each combatant landed blows and took them, parried and dodged, struck and was struck. With the battle now taking on a whole new tone, Subcon Forest's prince was filled with _both_ dread and determination as he fought through the burning sensations going through his currently-human body.

  
  


**He made such a _foolish_ mistake.**

  
  


He had been _so_ _focused_ on the _soldier_ in front of him, that he forgot to stay aware of the ground _below_ himself.

He tripped backwards over a rock, sharply hitting the ground. A harsh hiss whistled through his teeth as his sword slipped from his fingers, clattering against the ground a foot away.

His foe had stepped onto his chest. He could see their eyes _gleaming_ through their visor.

* * *

_How could he have ended up like this...?_

  
  


His mind fumbled with his thoughts, scattering them madly like a sack of marbles dropped onto the floor as his fingers gripped the ground, just mere centimeters from the hilt of his blade.

  
  


Could he die _again?_

  
  


_Was that possible?_

  
  


_How would he get out of **this!?**_

  
  


**He had to get free!**

  
  


_He couldn't reach his sword._

  
  


_Was this it?_

  
  


**No, he couldn't let this happen!**

  
  


_**He couldn't leave his people alone, again.** _

  
  


_Something was on the ground underneath him._ He felt it shift as he was _straining_ to grab his blade.

He tentatively moved his right hand to grab the object, not wanting to prompt the soldier to strike.

His hand wrapped around _a wooden blade._

  
  


_**Denise's sword.** _

  
  


_He remembered how old and rotted the wood was,_ **especially** _around the blade. One of the thoughts that he had, after fighting the child for so long in pretend swordplay, was how_ **fortunate** _it was that the sharpened point created by the wood rot **couldn't** harm anyone, anymore-_

  
  


_Wait-_

  
  


The soldier raised their weapon with both hands, preparing to pierce through the trapped prince's armor.

His expression hardening into a resolved, fierce, determined gaze, he pulled the wooden toy free and **stabbed** it into an opening in the side of the soldier's metal plating.

The sudden blow was enough to force the enemy's foot off of his chest as they let out a sharp shout, stumbling away from the armored royal. The sudden release of pressure from on top of him allowed the prince to take sharp breaths that were no longer needed, his injuries **shrieking** at him as he tried to regain his senses.

He heard a squelching splash, but he couldn't move to see _what_ had caused it. _Everything_ **hurt.**

  
  


_A sharp cry rang out._

  
  


His eyes snapped wide open as he _forced_ his aching body to move. He soon spotted the source of the cry; the soldier he was _just_ fighting-

  
  


_They had fallen into the swamp._

  
  


**This part of the swamp was too deep,** _**even for the tall soldier.**_

  
  


No, he didn't want them to-

  
  


_He couldn't move._

  
  


Growling, the prince threw off his armor, shifting himself back into his ghostly form as he extended a clawed hand towards his former combatant.

_**“Take my hand!”**_ he yelled, desperately trying to come to the soldier's aid despite his injuries.

Though startled by the sudden transformation, the soldier nonetheless struggled to stay above the surface of the swamp as they stretched their arm out towards their **only source of salvation.**

  
  


_Their fingers grazed briefly._

  
  


A terrified scream escaped the soldier as they were swallowed by the swamp.

  
  


_**“NO!”** _

Subcon's prince roared in agony as he desperately lifted his exhausted, pain-filled body up in a slight hop, his talon-like fingers desperately trying to grab the sinking hand.

  
  


**He missed.**

  
  


His fanged mouth shifted into an open-jawed maw, glowing eyes widening further as the prince of Subcon Forest stared at the spot his enemy had been struggling to stay above the murky swamp, just seconds before.

  
  


_**“No...!”** _

  
  


His clawed hand submerged itself in the mud, searching for _any_ sign of of the soldier so that he could pull them back up.

_It was too deep._ There was **no way** he could reach that far down. He couldn't grow bigger; he was in **too much pain.**

  
  


**“No...”**

  
  


Had he teeth and not two fangs in his ghostly form, they _surely_ would have been gritted as his face contorted, grief consuming his features.

He pulled his hand from the muck, his talon-like fingers curling into fists.

Subcon's prince buried his face into the ground and lay still, quietly mourning the life lost to the swamp.

  
  


A few minutes passed before he picked himself back up, shaking the mud off of his fist and wiping the blue goop from his face with his far-cleaner hand. Solemnly, he stared at the muddy swamp for only a few brief seconds, before moving back to where his discarded armor lay.

  
  


_Someone unfamiliar was approaching._

  
  


Quickly glancing up, the ghostly prince frowned as he realized whoever was coming would soon _see him in this state._

  
  


_He had to change back-_

  
  


The specter focused on shifting into his human form-

**Searing pain _shot_ through his entire being, once more.**

He fell over, exhaustion taking hold.

  
  


_He couldn't change back._

  
  


Holding back a string of curses that wanted to escape his fanged mouth, the prince pushed himself back upright, just barely holding himself up.

Two soldiers appeared from the treeline, freezing instantly upon spotting him.

The prince stopped moving, his figurative brow furrowed and fanged mouth hanging down in a scowl from the events that had previously transpired.

The soldiers stepped back. What was visible of their eyes from the visor stared at him with pure and utter **terror.**

  
  


_… You know what? The secret was out; he might as **well** do something to let out some of the anger he felt._

  
  


Momentarily ignoring his pain, the prince of Subcon Forest dug his talons into the earth, looming over the soldiers as his glowing eyes locked onto them.

A booming roar escaped him, the likes of which even _he_ had never heard, before.

  
  


_**“LEAVE!!!”** _

  
  


Much to his relief and- surprisingly- _slight_ joy, the soldiers obeyed his demands, rushing back through the trees like they had just seen their _worst nightmares_ come to life.

The brief moment of energy came at a price. The ghost soon collapsed onto the ground, groaning as his being was **wracked** with complete and utter ** _pain and agony._**

* * *

_He didn't know how long he laid there._ All the he could remember was sensing someone approach, and a familiar voice.

  
  


“Your Highness!?”

  
  


The prince screwed his eyes shut, moaning as the sudden sound assaulted his nonexistent ears. Nonetheless, he was still aware enough to know _who_ was speaking.

  
  


**“Julio...”**

  
  


He winced as a pair of hands rolled him onto his back. Through half-lidded eyes, he soon spotted the familiar eyes belonging to the blue, ghostly gardener.

“Are you okay!? What happened!?” the gardener cried, helping the injured specter sit up.

**“It is a... long story...”** the maned ghost gasped. **“I will tell you... in the village... when we re-”**

  
  


He **_howled_** as fresh pain shot up where his spine would have been, the angle he was being lifted to agitating the already-aching pains that had enveloped him.

Julio grimaced, carefully pulling the prince over to a tree. He laid the shadowy phantom against the trunk, checking to make sure the injured ghost wouldn't slide down to the side, before finally backing away from him. “Sorry- just hang on, I'll get the others!”

Pain dulling his senses, the prince hadn't any time to ask about how their clash with the desert soldiers had ended before Julio flew off.

A sigh left him as he rested against the bark. His yellow eyes shrunk into thin lines.

It wouldn't hurt to rest his eyes, for a _moment._ After all, he would soon be back at the village.

  
The other adults would be back to their usual jobs...

  
  


The children would play...

  
  


_The children..._

* * *

_…_

  
  


_… Where was he?_

  
  


Oh, that's right. He was walking through the forest.

The trees were filled with their usual greenery, flowers poked out from the soft, fresh earth, and foliage was abundant in the verdant woods. Rough Patch darted through his legs, still as _lively_ as they were when they were just a kitten. The bushcat ran from here to there, chasing after a red string that was slithering along the ground.

_A red string?_

  
  


Confused, the king rushed forward, following the leafy feline the best he could through the forest's terrain.

“Rough Patch, wait!” he called, holding a hand out as he trudged through the bushes the best he could. He took care not to tear his clothing- Vanessa would be _beside herself_ if he tore up _another_ shirt- as he soon slowed to a stop, spotting his beloved pet nuzzling up against one of the children.

He smiled, soon walking over to a crowd of the little ones, all staring up at him with bright eyes and toothy grins.

“Hello, children!” he happily greeted.

“Hello, Your Majesty!” they chirped back.

Rough Patch mewed as they were pat, before they began batting at the string.

“I see you found Rough Patch!” the king mused, “Or, rather, _led_ him here.”

He eyed the red string on the ground, which appeared to vanish into the crowd of children before he could spot its end.

“Her Highness said she knew how to get Rough Patch to come over to us!” the prince heard Susan exclaim.

“Oh, _did she,_ now?” He chuckled, an amused grin and raised eyebrow soon appearing on his face. “Speaking of Her Highness, where is she?”

The crowd parted, revealing a child sitting on the ground. The little one hummed as she wound the red string into a ball of yarn, the end of which being pursued once again by Rough Patch.

  
  


_He couldn't make out what the child **looked like,** but he **knew** she was a child, and he **knew** she was a girl, somehow._

  
  


She turned her head, laughing as the bushcat launched into her lap. “Rough Patch!” she cried, “I wasn't finished making a ball of yarn!”

His grin turned into a gentle smile.

  
  


_He couldn't make out her face, and he couldn't tell how old she was._

  
  


The child turned to look at him-

  
  


_Her face was blurred; **he couldn't make out a single detail.**_

  
  


\- before she smiled-

  
  


_He didn't know **how** he could tell she was smiling, **but this didn't bother him.**_

  
  


\- and stood up, rushing over to hug him.

“Hi, Daddy!” the child happily cried, bouncing on her heels as she lifted her arms up over her head.

Not missing a beat, the king lifted the little one up and held her against his chest, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, Princess!” he greeted, joy unrestrained as he gazed at his daughter. “What are you doing out here?”

“Denise was showing me how to fight with swords!” she soon exclaimed, “I'm going to be the _bestest_ swordsperson ever, and I'll protect _everyone!_ Including you!”

He didn't think it'd be possible to grin even _more_ than he already was, but somehow, he did.

Staring lovingly at the cheerful little bundle in his arms, the king swiped off her hat and put it on his head.

“I know you will be, sweetie,” he replied, "You will be the strongest-" He poked her nose. "- swordsperson in the world."

"In the galaxy!" the child quickly corrected, her tiny cape flowing in the wind. "No, the _universe!"_

He laughed quietly, setting the little one down. "How about we start with the strongest in the forest?" the king suggested.

The child tapped her chin, thinking hard for a moment. "Okay!" she soon chirped, "That means I have to train lots and lots!"

The child spun around, waving her hands above her head as she danced for a moment. She stopped when she noticed Rough Patch grabbing the yarn ball in their mouth. "Rough Patch, _no!"_ she cried, distressed by the string ball being snatched. "I'm not finished making it, yet!"

The bushcat glanced up at the princess as she ran over to them. In an instant, they darted away, running behind the king.

"Rough Patch, come back!" the child cried, giving chase to the leafy cat.

The king watched them dart away, turning with a small chuckle. He pushed back his brown hair and lifted the child's hat off of his head, taking a moment to glance at the headwear.

  
  


He didn't recognize what kind of hat it was. He had _never_ seen anything like it, before.

_A tall crown, a rounded brim, a band around where the two met..._

_... and it was soft in his **clawed hands.**_

  
His attention went away from the hat as he turned his head to see-

  
  


_The children behind him were_ **gone.**

  
  


**"Children?"** he called, turning fully as he searched for the little ones.

_Where had they gone?_

“Look, Daddy! Mommy's here!”

  
  


Whipping back around, his gaze fell forward as he saw-

  
_The area dark and filled with ice. His vision narrowed into a tunnel as he soon spotted his child, running towards a shadowy figure in the distance-_

**Red eyes** _shone from the figure's head as the girl ran to embrace it-_

_It was_ **her.** _She reached a hand down **towards the child's throat-**_

_**“NO!!!”** _

* * *

  
  


The prince startled awake, crying out as pain _**shot**_ through him, once more. His tail went limp against the ground as he gasped, tears gathering in his eyes.

  
  


_“Your Highness, please, calm down!”_

  
  


**“No, she has her- _she has her-!”_** he desperately screamed, trying harder and harder to force himself up.

  
  


_“Who?”_

  
  


**_“My daughter!_ I have to _save_ her, she'll _kill_ her-!”**

  
  


“Your Highness!!”

  
  


His glowing eyes widened as his vision suddenly _snapped_ back into focus.

  
  


He was being held back against the tree, Julio and Zacharias restraining him against the bark to prevent the specter from further injuring himself. Clarissa, Anne, and Horace were all gathered around him, trying to assess his injuries, while Diana and Gwendolyn were speaking to him.

  
  


“Your Highness,” Diana repeated, placing a hand against the ghost's shoulder, “You were unconscious. Are you okay?”

He blinked, dazed ever so slightly. **“No, I was in the forest- my daughter was-”**

  
  


“You don't have a daughter,” Gwendolyn interrupted, stoic as ever. “It was a dream.”

  
  


A few seconds of silence came and went as the ghost regained to his senses, realizing that the mason was right.

  
  


_It had all been a dream._

It was bittersweet relief that he felt. His child _wasn't_ in danger, but that was because _he **had** no child._

  
He let his shoulders droop as his body relaxed.

  
  


He had been in the _midst_ of battle. They had been _fighting their enemies._

  
  


**“The enemy's forces,”** he muttered, **“are they...?”**

“Gone,” Diana confirmed for him. “Two of them came rushing out of the trees, yelling about some kind of monster near the swamp, with glowing eyes and an inky body. We realized they were talking about _you,_ and...”

Zacharias grinned slightly, his grip on the maned phantom relaxing. “We decided that there was no point in maintaining the whole “we're still alive” charade, _so_ we changed back to normal and scared them all off.”

Letting himself sink down, the specter sighed and closed his eyes, once more.

**“Well, it looks like our little secret is out,”** the maned ghost stated, frowning as he realized what this meant. **“Undoubtedly, the Cabinet Minister will attempt to revoke our rights to our land.”**

Anne bit her spectral lower lip, attempting to contain a sly grin. “I don't think we'll need to worry about that,” she replied in a _very_ uncharacteristically-quiet voice.

Subcon's prince opened his eyes to look at the cobbler. **“Why is that?”** he inquired, curiosity piqued despite his pain.

Floating over to her armor, Anne pulled a small letter from the belt. “Well, while the soldiers were running for the hills,” she began, “I happened to notice one of them running off with this envelope.”

She grinned mischievously. “So I-” She drew out the “I” for at least a second and a half. “- _relieved_ them of it.”

Before the specter could voice his discontentment with stealing from the enemy, Anne darted over to his side and opened it up, placing the parchment that was inside in his hands. “They must have stolen it from some messenger that was heading here," she guessed. "Take a look!”

Sluggishly, the prince sat up somewhat straightly, disregarding the aches in his ghostly back as he read over the letter.

  
  


… His expression lightened. Glowing eyes growing huge and his fanged mouth shifting into a wide grin, the prince laughed softly as joy overtook his pain.

  
  


The nomads had gone to the other councils, before the coup. How they had accomplished that, he wasn't sure, but the letter was an _official document_ from other countries, their leaders' signatures lining the bottom of the document.

  
  


_He was_ **officially** _recognized as **the ruler of Subcon.**_

**The land belonged to all of Subcon's inhabitants, _legally._**

  
  


**“I cannot believe he did it!”** Subcon's now-official ruler laughed, smile stretching to his figurative ears as he safely sent the letter away. He turned to the other villagers, tentatively placing a hand against his chest. **_“Legally,_ I am now your leader, and I have _official_ recognition of this in _all other countries the world over.”_**

  
  


The cheers of joy the villagers produced were loud enough to wake the _dead..._ if they weren't _already_ awake.

* * *

Their return to Subcon Village was slow, due to the prince's injured state. Nonetheless, he was _determined_ to return home to make the announcement, once everyone else had returned from the well.

  
  


If he thought the cheering _before_ was loud, the noise the _whole village_ made was absolutely **deafening!**

  
  


He soon snapped the parchment away, vigor beginning to return as he watched his people celebrate the good news.

In the distance, he soon spotted one of the children floating over. He smiled, waving to the little one.

Denise quickly approached him, their mask's eyes tearing up.

His smile faltered.

  
  


_Their sword!_ The toy had _sunk into the swamp!_

  
  


His joy _shattered_ as guilt made itself at home in his chest.

  
  


**“Oh, Denise, I am so sorry...!”** the specter swiftly apologized, his swiftness somewhat hindered by the gradually dying pains in his spectral body. **“Your sword, it-”**

  
  


He gasped slightly as the little one burst into tears and flung themselves around his neck, curling their tail the best they could in what was _undoubtedly_ their best attempt at a hug.

  
  


_Oh, he felt_ _**horrible.  
  
**_

**“I-I am _truly_ sorry-”**

  
  


_I was scared!_

  
  


… Well, this caught him by surprise, somewhat.

  
  


The prince gently tugged the child away, figurative brow furrowing itself upwards in concern. **“Why were you scared?”** he softly asked.

The child shook as tears dripped down their mask.

  
  


_I was scared because they said you got hurt, and I didn't know if you would be okay!_

  
  


… Oh... _that's_ why they were crying...

  
  


He sighed, a relieved smile appearing on his face as he gently pat Denise's head. **“Oh, no, do not worry, Denise...”** he soothingly murmured, **“I am _fine...”_**

His reassurances didn't seem to help the child feel any better. They continued bawling, their tiny, serpentine body trembling as tears cascaded from their masked eyes.

  
An air of fear was _still_ floating about the child.

How could he help Denise feel better...?

  
  


A thought popped into his head. He lifted the child up into his hand, letting his worried expression relax into softened eyes and a kind smile.

**“You _saved_ me, do you know that?”**

  
  


Denise's sobs slowed to a stop; this was _exactly_ what he hoped for.

  
  


_I did...?_   
  
  
  


Nodding slowly, the prince gently sat on the ground. **“Your sword truly _was_ a hero's sword; it saved me when I was in the most _dire_ of situations,”** he informed the child. **“If you had not given it to me...”**

  
  


_**No, he shouldn't continue that thought.** _

  
  


A brief shake of his head purged his mind of the morbid what-if. **“You really _are_ Subcon Forest's greatest hero,”** he told the child, **“and _mine.”_**

  
  


… Denise's eyes watered more as their serpentine body shook with louder sobs.

Despite the tears, the maned ghost could feel joy and relief _bursting_ from the child.

He embraced the little one, closing his eyes as he comforted them. Murmurs of soothing words and reassurances helped calm the child as they nuzzled against his mane.

  
  


_He loved his children. They were all amazing little heroes._

  
  


_Especially **his** little hero, Denise._


	12. A Tiny Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never forget to enjoy what you have.

_Their secret was out._

  
  


It had been a few months since the soldiers learned that Subcon's inhabitants were **ghosts.** By now, the Cabinet Minister _had_ to have been notified about this; the ghosts of Subcon had to change their strategy in dealing with the soldiers, going from fighting to scaring them off.

  
  


It wasn't _ideal,_ but it couldn't be helped.

  
  


If anything good came out of the whole situation, it was the fact that the Cabinet Minister's forces were _very_ easy to scare away.

The first time had been simple; the soldiers had never seen ghosts before, so all the villagers had needed to do was pop out from behind the trees and yell at them. The whole lot of the enemy's forces immediately ran for the forest's exit, much to everyone's relief and joy. Soon enough, Subcon's inhabitants had gotten used to scaring out the periodic soldiers that would dare enter the forest.

  
  


_Admittedly, it was kind of cathartic._

  
  


Eventually, however, they had to come up with actual routines and plans for scaring their enemies away, when flying out from behind objects and screaming stopped being effective.

A group meeting had been established, and everyone came to an agreement that the prince would _definitely_ play the major role. He was rather terrifying, and _much_ bigger than the others, after all.

“That, plus- and I mean no offense- you _are_ pretty scary,” Raymond had pointed out.

  
  


Not that the shadowy specter minded, all that much; he had somewhat gotten used to his ghostly form, over the past few years. Being honest, he thought he would _never_ get used to looking like... well, a maned, jack-o-lantern snake with arms, but he had.

Maybe it was the fact that everyone had grown so used to him being like this, that he didn't have much trouble accepting his new state of being, either.

  
  


He wasn't quite sure.

  
  


Regardless, at the very least, his unusual appearance did help with terrifying soldiers that entered the forest. He even put on his “villainous” act he did with the kids; the difference being that this time, he wasn't playing a game, but actually _trying_ to scare the desert foes away.

  
  


He even terrified _himself_ with how convincing he was.

  
  


At the same time, though... it was kind of nice, scaring the soldiers away.

The thought of that scared him, a bit; he shouldn't be happy about _scaring_ people. But remembering what the Cabinet Minister had done to the poor nomads and their former prince made his figurative blood **boil so much,** that he wanted to exact justice in _**any way he possibly could.**_

  
Which meant using _anything_ they had on hand that could help with terrifying a few unsuspecting soldiers.

Frederick's potions- after taking _extreme_ precautions with how they were handled- were _magnificent_ in rattling the nerves of their enemies. Each explosion they produced left their foes on guard and tense, which aided in building up the unnerving atmosphere the ghosts of Subcon needed to properly frighten away the armored troops.

More of the potions needed to be made, obviously. Which happened to be what Subcon's ruler was currently working on.

* * *

Frederick needed some help in his laboratory, since Julio was busy tending to the plants around the forest. Always eager to learn about something new, the prince volunteered his time to learning how to make the potions.

  
  


Which is how the shadowy specter ended up covered _head-to-tail_ in the blue concoction.

  
  


**“I do not think I am very good at this,”** the maned phantom remarked, after having tried three times to get the mixture right.

Frederick laughed slightly, handing a towel to the prince. “I wouldn't say that!” he exclaimed, watching the ghostly ruler wipe the ruined potion off off of his glowing face. The scientist stirred his own mixture as he continued speaking. “Why, this formula is so tricky, even _I_ have trouble getting it right, somet-”

Suddenly, the mixture _burst_ out of its container, blasting the scientist directly in the face.

The prince lowered his towel, eyes wide with surprise as the mixture ceased spewing, leaving Frederick's face covered in blue goop. The scientist blinked a few times, before smiling sheepishly.

“Case in point; do you mind if I borrow that towel?”

Subcon's ghostly monarch laughed quietly, tossing the towel back over to the scientist, before turning to get to work on a new batch of the explosive liquid. **“It is a relief to see that I am not the _only_ one having trouble!”** the maned ghost remarked, already heating up a new base.

His face now potion-free, the schoolteacher managed to smile, though it faded upon glancing at the ghostly ruler's back.

“Your Highness, how are you doing?” Frederick asked.

**“Aside from being covered in blue gunk? I feel rather fine,”** the maned ghost replied, eyes focused on the bubbling concoction. **“Why do you ask?”**

  
  


_The prince had told the other adults about the soldier that drowned in the swamp. After being consoled by the ghostly villagers, he constructed a small gravestone with Gwendolyn, and had it placed near the swamp._

_The soldier may have been an enemy of theirs, but he certainly didn't deserve to **die.**_

Nonetheless, Frederick was somewhat concerned; their leader had been somewhat solemn, over the past few days, and no one really knew why. However, the schoolteacher had some suspicions that the death may have affected their ruler more than he let on.

“You have been much more... somber, as of late,” the schoolteacher replied, rubbing his hands together. “Is it because of that soldier?”

The scientist's statement caught Subcon's prince by surprise. Gently, he set the flask back down and turned to Frederick. **“Oh, _heavens,_ no!”** the shadowy specter exclaimed, **“I have recovered from that, I assure you!”**

His glowing eyes glanced over at the flask, smile wavering as he watched over the brewing potion. **“It is just... we _still_ have not found a way to keep _her_ in the manor,”** the specter revealed. **“I worry that she will eventually escape; there is only so much snow that can form on that roof, even _with_ the perpetual winter...”**

  
  


The taller ghost felt a hand on his shoulder.

  
  


Turning his head, he noticed Frederick smiling kindly, the scientist holding a new flask of the blue liquid.

“Don't worry; we _will_ find a way to keep her in the manor.”

… A sigh left the prince as his smile grew, nodding slightly as he picked his own flask back up. **“You are right,”** he told the schoolteacher, **“it is only a matter of time.”**

Frederick grinned, grabbing a small stirrer from a table. “Aren't I always?” he joked, handing the tool off to the prince and grabbing another. “Now, let's give it another go, shall we?”

The fanged, yellow smile on the shadowy ghost's face grew as he stirred the concoction, Frederick following suit.

  
  


“One... two... three...”

  
  


A small puff of purple smoke came out of both flasks. Almost instantly, the tense body of the prince relaxed, relieved that the potion hadn't blown up in his face, _again._

Frederick pat the leader on the back. “You see? You've got it!”

Chuckling slightly, the specter corked his flask and set it down. The schoolteacher mimicked him, before grabbing another flask. “Ready for another go?”

Subcon's prince grinned widely. **“Always!”**

  
  


Secretly, _Vanessa_ was only a small part of the _actual_ reason he had been so somber. But the successful potion and Frederick's enthusiasm managed to distract Subcon's ruler from what was _truly_ bothering him, for the moment.

* * *

As time went on, the spectral prince found himself gradually feeling better about their whole situation. Even the problem he had been hiding from everyone left his mind as he got back into a more cheerful mood, playing with the children and working around the village- and, on occasion, scaring some of the Cabinet Minister's forces out of Subcon Forest.

  
  


_His afterlife was good._

  
  


One particular day, he happened to be weaving with William. Things had been peaceful for about a week, and the prince had taken the time to design a little blanket for Denise. He was working **extremely** hard to get the design right; a little woven Denise posing in a very heroic stance, their lost toy sword held up high.

  
  


It wasn't as good as a _new toy sword_ , but he wanted to make _something_ for the child, after the previous plaything had **saved his neck.**

Heck, he could already imagine how _excited_ Denise would be, to have a little blanket depicting themselves as a hero.

_That's a good way to warm up one's soul, right there._

  
  


He had almost finished with the little blanket, when he suddenly sensed something enter the forest. Immediately, he stopped weaving, his head whipping up and mane flying about as he tried to figure out how many had arrived-

  
  


_One person._

  
  


He frowned, slowly floating up from the unfinished blanket.

“What's wrong?” William asked, brow knitted in concern.

**“Someone has entered the forest,”** the prince replied, voice low as he floated to the door. **“Only one, though. It might be another scout.”**

The weaver frowned, soon following the prince to the door. “What do you want us to do?”

The specter of Subcon paused at the door, his eyes closing briefly as he pondered his next command.

  
  


**“If I am not back in five minutes, head past the laboratory to the forest's edge.”**

  
  


Not uttering another word, the prince of Subcon Forest flew through the door.

* * *

It wasn't hard to figure out where the soul was, in his forest. Just past Frederick's laboratory, near the closest entrance to Subcon Forest from the massive canyon outside of its borders.

The ghost flew straight through and past the laboratory, darting straight into the treeline. Effortlessly, he weaved through the trees, avoiding trunks, branches, and other forest foliage that could get in his way.

He could have just _teleported_ to where the person was, but flying gave him enough time to figure out if they truly _were_ alone.

_After all, it would be bad if the enemy planned a sudden ambush, just for him._

  
  


As he closed in on the stranger's location, he soon realized that there would be no ambush; the individual had gone too far into the forest for any sudden attack to reach the specter, before he would notice a crowd of people _rushing at him._

His glowing smile turning into a convincingly evil grin. The maned phantom dove into the ground, growing bigger as he teleported right in front of the _unfortunate soul._ He leaned back, releasing a loud, maniacal laugh that echoed through the trees.

  
  


**“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! _FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-”_**

  
  


He stopped laughing, his glowing yellow eyes growing huge as he realized _what was in front of him._

  
  


_Yellow eyes underneath a hood, brown fur, and a **very** short stature-_

  
  


His fanged grin faded into a thin, straight line.

  
  


Before him was a person bearing a striking resemblance to the nomads _that had once lived in the desert kingdom._ The small being quivered before him, eyes welling up with tears as the massive specter towered over them.

  
  


_They were much smaller than the nomads._

  
  


**This was a** _**child-** _

  
  


Before the prince could snap out of his stunned state, the child emitted a piercing cry and scrambled away from him, toddling as fast as they could off of the beaten path.

  
  


**“No- no no no, wait-!”** the specter stuttered, shifting down into his usual size and zipping after the little one.

  
  


_**He just scared a kid!** _

  
  


Mentally berating himself, the ghost circled around the trees, coming to a stop in front of the frightened child.

Instinctively, the crying toddler stumbled backwards, yellow eyes wide with fear as tears streamed down their face.

  
  


_It felt like someone **stabbed** him in his non-existent heart._

  
  


**“Hey- Hey, it is all right,”** the maned ghost tried to soothe, lowering himself down to the child's level. **“I will not hurt you.”**

He gently reached out with a clawed hand.

The child inched away, whimpering loudly as they stared wide-eyed at the talon-like fingers. He pulled his hand away, a frown appearing instantly on his face as he glanced at his hands. How to make them _less_ scary...

Focusing hard, the prince managed to shift his hands into something more familiar for the child; hands that had two rounded fingers.

Tentative with his movements, the ruler of the forest tried again to reach out to the little one.

**“See? I will not harm you...”**

  
  


The child hiccuped, staring at one of the hands through their partially scrunched-up features. The sight of two fingers that weren't like claws distracted them long enough for the maned ghost to approach, holding one of the fingers out to the child.

… Slowly but surely, they grabbed the extended digit.

  
  


The prince smiled, this one _much_ more kind than the nefarious grin he had previously sported. **“There we go; now, let me just lift you up-”**

Careful not to startle the child, the ghost used his other hand to scoop up the toddler and lift them close to his mane.

The little one let out a surprised cry, clutching tightly onto the finger they had grabbed with their small hands.

**“- and there we go!”** he softly grunted, holding the child against his chest. Soon, however, he frowned, figurative brow furrowed as he looked down at the teary-eyed child. **“I am _so_ _sorry_ about scaring you, little one,”** the prince quickly apologized, **“I thought you were... _someone else...”_**

He couldn't tell if the child understood his words or not. Perhaps they had, or perhaps they hadn't. Either way, his words seemed to calm the little one enough to stop their tears.

Sighing in relief, the shadowy specter wiped away the last of the child's tears with a finger and smiled, once more.

**“All better, now?”**

  
  


The only response he got was a small “Mmmph” as the little one had a tiny, two-fingered hand grasp at the ghost's mane. Eventually, they finally, quietly spoke one word:

“Sof...”

  
  


… His non-existent heart was _melting._

_Don't cry. Do_ **not** _cry._

  
  


His smile growing by the second, the ghost floated back upright and pondered how the little one had gotten to his forest.

  
Surely, this child couldn't have _climbed down from the mountains;_ nor would any _rational_ person bring a child down from the mountains...

  
  


_They must be one of the former desert prince's people that had been left behind._

  
  


**“What is your name, little one?”** asked the ghost.

“Jem'ia!” the child replied, their gaze still focused on his mane.

  
  


Snapping his fingers with his free hand, the ghostly prince summoned up the list that he had been given, searching through the names and descriptions of the people left behind in the desert kingdom.

Let's see; the child had to be about two or so... Jem'ia... _Aha!_

  
  


**“Jeremiah?”** the specter inquired, glancing down at the child.

The child instantly looked up at him. “Hi!” they immediately said upon hearing their full name.

The list floating next to the ghost vanished. **“What a nice name!”** the prince remarked, before he frowned.

  
  


The child's father had _also_ been left behind...

_Where was he?_

  
  


**“Jeremiah,”** the specter began to inquire, **“do you know where your father is?”**

  
  


Like a switch flipped, the child suddenly realized _their father wasn't around._ Jeremiah's head turned from left to right, their eyes blinking a few times as they saw _no one else._

Immediately, the child's eyes filled with tears, once more.

  
  


**“O-Oh, no no no, it is all right-!”**

  
  


The shadowy specter was **instantly** filled with regret.

  
  


In mere seconds, the toddler went back to bawling their eyes out, the reminder of the lack of their father's presence upsetting little Jeremiah greatly. The sound _immediately_ struck a cord with Subcon's ruler; he could relate to the feeling of _not knowing where your father was..._

  
  


**“A-Ah, hey, it will be okay,”** he tried to reassure the child, **“I am sure he is not _too_ far...”**

  
  


As carefully as he could, the specter bounced the child slightly, shushing them carefully.

Eventually, the tiny desert-dwelling child was soothed, their cries calming down as their gaze was directed at the much taller ghost.

Turning towards the direction the child had come from, the specter's figurative brow furrowed in thought.

  
  


**“After all, you could not have gotten here all by _yourself...”_**

* * *

It would take some time to carry Jeremiah back to the village.

For one thing, the prince didn't want to startle the little one by teleporting; in fact, he didn't know if he _could_ teleport with the child in his arms.

  
  


**He didn't want to test if he could.**

  
  


The prince also didn't want to fly too fast. The child was already so upset, and he didn't want to frighten them further by going too fast for their liking.

So, he floated through the forest at a leisurely rate, much akin to taking a stroll. All the while, little Jeremiah watched from the safety of the specter's shadowy arms as they made their way through the seemingly endless trees. Every so often, their little yellow eyes would suddenly lock onto something- like a flower on the ground, or an unusual rock, or even a bug that _somehow_ managed to survive in the forest.

The ghostly prince couldn't help but smile at the child-like curiosity the toddler showed. Seeing the little one showing no more fear as they pointed out various objects that caught their eye made Subcon's prince feel somewhat better about scaring the poor thing.

Now cheerful, he held the child against his chest and took his time through the forest.

  
  


“Twee!” the child noticed, pointing out the now-healthier trees in the forest.

**“Yes, that is right,”** replied the ghost, his fanged smile growing in response to the child's observation. **“That is a tree!”**

Jeremiah then stared at the ground, spotting a white flower growing in the grass. They wasted no time in pointing it out.

“Fwowuh!”

  
  


**“Yes, that is right!”** the ghost praised, **“Do you know what color the flower is?”**

Almost immediately, the child's face scrunched up in concentration as they thought about the question. It only took them a couple of seconds to answer the maned specter.

“White fwowuh!”

**“That is right, little one!”** the prince exclaimed, **“You certainly know your colors!”**

Jeremiah giggled. “I know!”

  
  


_Do. Not. Cry._

  
  


**“Have you ever seen a bushcat, little one?”** the ghost asked the child.

“Bus'tat?” Jeremiah repeated, tearing their little eyes away from the bloom to look at the maned ghost.

The specter nodded, sighing as he gazed around the forest. **“They used to be _all over_ the place, you see. Little leafy cats that looked like bushes!”** the prince told them. **“In fact, I even had one as a pet. Rough Patch, that was their name. Oh, how I miss them...”**

His smile faded slightly, replaced with a thin frown. **“I have not seen them for a few years, however,”** he mentioned, figurative brow furrowing. **“I do not know where they are, or if there are any other bushcats left. They may have been chased out by the spiders...”**

Jeremiah tilted their head at him, confusion apparent upon their hooded face.

Slowly, the forest's ruler shook his head, forcing a slightly sad smile on his darkened face. **“But that is not something to be concerned about,”** he stated, **“ _especially_ not for someone as young as yourself.”**

Suddenly, the specter pointed a finger at the massive, fungi-covered tree in the distance. **“Ah, look over there!”** he suddenly said, prompting the toddler to turn their head towards the tree. **“That is where I live, little one. It may not _seem_ like much, but it is _perfect_ in every way imaginable.”**

Jeremiah tilted their head back, trying to see where the very top was. When they finally spotted it, their only response to the prince's home was relatively simple.

“Big twee!”

  
  


… Heavens, he was tearing up. _Keep it together!_

  
  


Blinking away the tears in his eyes, the ghost's fanged grin grew as he carefully flew over the ravine separating Frederick's laboratory from the village. **“Yes, it is quite a large tree!”** he replied, his glowing eyes gazing down at the toddler's own yellow ones. **“That is why it is perfect for me!”**

As the ghost grew closer to the village, he soon saw some of the villagers heading in his direction.

_Had he really been gone for that long?_

  
  


Quickening his pace, the ghostly prince carefully hurried over to his people, holding Jeremiah securely against his chest. As he came to a stop in front of the group, the other villagers- led by Diana- rushed over to Subcon's prince.

“Are you all right?” the blacksmith asked, their sword already in hand. Soon enough, they noticed the _unusual_ state of their leader's hands and raised a figurative eyebrow.

Subcon's ruler smiled nervously, shifting his hand slightly to ensure the child in his hand wouldn't fall as they peered around from between his two fingers.

  
  


**“I am fine, but... do you happen to know if there is any food left?”**

* * *

It took a bit of searching through their food storage, but Ophelia _eventually_ managed to find some fruit preserved in honey. A few rinses in some water heated over a fire, and the fruit was ready for eating.

And eat little Jeremiah did, eagerly grabbing each one with their tiny hands- after it had been sliced up into small enough pieces- and stuffing each piece into their mouth. The only fruit they seemed to stubbornly refuse to eat were the apples, which they would push away and firmly insist, “No appuh,” upon seeing the slices.

The baker chuckled, popping an apple slice into her ghostly mouth as she sat down near the child.

The prince mimicked her, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before he swallowed.

**“Well, they certainly seem to know what they like!”** the maned ghost remarked. **“Personally, I think they taste fine.”**

“That's just how kids are,” Ophelia remarked, patting the little one's head.

The toddler closed their eyes in response, chomping down on a piece of strawberry as their head was pet.

“They have their own likes and dislikes,” continued the baker, a smile clear on her spectral face.

The ruler of Subcon Forest couldn't help but sigh, shaking his head slightly as he clasped his hands together. Before he could say a word, the faint sound of the grandfather clock chimed the time.

  
  


_Five forty-five._

  
  


**“Considering how late in the day it is, we may have to figure out sleeping arrangements for the little one, if...”**

  
  


The prince didn't finish that train of thought.

It would be better not to discuss the child's missing father _in front of the child,_ after all.

  
  


“If it comes to that, we could all just take turns holding the child,” suggested Ophelia.

Humming in thought, the ghostly royal soon nodded in agreement. **“That would probably be for the-”**

“Fwuit gone!”

  
  


Interrupted by the sudden exclamation, the prince of Subcon turned to look at the two-year-old, and was met with a sight that made him chuckle.

  
  


Heavens, their face was a _mess!_

  
  


Ophelia giggled as the spectral ruler snatched up a napkin and proceeded to wipe the little one's face. **“Good heavens, you certainly made a mess of your face!”** he remarked, using some clean spots on the napkin to wipe off the child's hands, as well.

“Fwuit messy,” was little Jeremiah's response.

**“I absolutely agree,”** the specter replied, a genuine smile on his face.

The moment the toddler's face and hands were free of fruit bits, they raised their hands above their head and looked at the prince expectantly. “Want up!”

**“Oh, of course!”** the specter replied, carefully lifting the child up against his mane. **“Thank you for for taking the time to find some fruit, Ophelia,”** he addressed the baker.

Ophelia waved a hand dismissively, a clear smile on her face. “Oh, it wasn't a problem!” she replied, “Just make sure that little one gets to bed, you hear me?”

Subcon's prince chuckled, nodding as he floated to the door. **“Of course! We would not want them to be tired in the morning, would we?”**

“Take care, Your Highness!”  
  


Waving to the baker, the shadowy ghost looked down at the little desert-dwelling toddler and lifted them up a bit further. **“Now, how would you like to see my home?”**

Jeremiah blinked, their hooded head tilting back to look up into the prince's glowing eyes. “Big twee?”

**“Yes, we will see the big tree!”** he confirmed for the little one, already floating out of the village. **“Before you go to bed, I can show you all sorts of things. Perhaps I have a book that would be appropriate to read to you, or _maybe_ I could try playing my old violin...”**

Musing over possible means of entertainment for the toddler, the ruler of the forest made his way to his tree home.

* * *

Upon searching through his extensive collection of books- _most_ of which revolved around law, history, politics, or astronomy, the maned ghost eventually dug out an old collection of stories about Subcon Forest. Jeremiah had been safely placed in his massive armchair, and easily proved to be a great distraction with finding an age-appropriate book for the toddler. The child's various comments had prompted the prince to respond- _happily, mind you-_ to each one.

  
  


“Sof tair!”

**“Yes, that _is_ a soft chair!”**

“'soom up!”

**“There _are_ mushrooms up there!”**

“Big cwock...”

**“Indeed, a _very_ big clock! It is called a _grandfather_ clock.”**

“Gwan faduh!”

**“That is right!”**

  
  


Finally, after perusing through his bookshelf and talking to the child, he located the old story book and carefully lifted it out with telekinesis. The ghostly prince floated back over to his chair, lifting the child up with one hand, and settling himself down in the plush armchair. As the book flew down into his lap, the specter smiled at little Jeremiah and opened the storybook to the table of contents.

**“Now, let us see what stories there are to read, shall we?”** the maned specter suggested, dragging a rounded finger down the list of tales. **“Hmm... Well, there are quite a few here that would _not_ be the best for toddlers... Although, I suppose I _could_ make them a bit more age-appropriate...”**

Jeremiah glanced up at the spectral ruler, a tiny hand petting the ghost's mane.

The prince chuckled slightly, still searching through the various tales in the giant story book.

**“Aha!”** the specter exclaimed, finger landing on one specific tale. **“Here we are! 'The Beast of Subcon Forest'.”**

He turned to Jeremiah. **“I will make things a bit less scary for you; this book _is_ meant for older children, after all,”** the ghost explained, before glancing back down at the book and flipping to the page the story was on.

Jeremiah blinked, their yellow eyes focused on the book's pages as they held onto some of the phantom's mane.

  
  


**“'The Beast of Subcon Forest',”** the prince began, after clearing his ghostly throat. **“'Many years ago, the kingdom of Subcon knew nothing but peace. The people of the kingdom were happy and carefree as they spent their days going about their business.'”**

The specter paused. **“'But that peace would not last,'”** he continued, his voice growing lower. **“'One day, the kingdom was attacked by a giant beast with flaming eyes.'”**

  
  


Jeremiah whined slightly, gripping onto the prince's ghostly mane.

**“Now, now, do not worry,”** the ghost reassured, **“this story will end happily.”**

Smiling at the little one, the ghost leaned back slightly in his chair to better hold the child up against himself.

**  
“'The poor villagers were frightened for their lives,'”** the ghost progressed, **“'so the king of Subcon hired a great knight to defeat the massive beast.'”**

  
  


“Bees mean,” Jeremiah mumbled, resting their head on the shadowy ghost's chest.

The ghost nodded slightly, patting the child's tiny head with a stubby finger. **“Yes, yes they are...”** he remarked, before continuing the tale.

  
  


**“'The knight traveled through the forest for days, before they found the part of the forest that the creature called home. They spotted the beast, soon enough, and pulling out their blade, the knight rushed to combat the gigantic beast.'”**

  
  


The toddler blinked a few times, staring down at the book as the spectral ruler resumed speaking.

  
**“'They fought for a long, _long_ time, until the beast managed to knock the knight's sword from their hand. The monster approached, ready to strike down the defenseless knight.'”**

  
  


The specter soon paused again upon hearing another whine from the child. **“Hey, do not fret, little one,”** he told Jeremiah, petting the child's head softly. **“I told you, this story has a _happy_ ending.”**

After a few more reassurances, the toddler soon calmed down enough for the ghost to continue the daunting tale.

  
  


**“'Suddenly, the knight saw some of the mud commonly found in the forest's swamp. An idea popped into their head, and the knight rushed to the nearest tree, quickly climbing up the trunk and balancing across the branches to another tree, and another, until they were directly over the muddy swamp.'”**

The ghost grinned at the child. **“'The beast followed after the knight, _roaring_ in fury as they rushed for the hero, until they fell _right into the swamp!'”_**

  
  


The child's eyes grew huge. “Mud sp'at!”

The ghost nodded. **“Indeed, the creature caused a huge, muddy _splat!”_** the prince replied, before turning his head back to the book.

  
**“'Having fallen into a deeper part of the muck, the Beast of Subcon Forest sunk _too quickly_ to ever hope to escape the swamp. The knight jumped down to solid ground, and returned to the kingdom of Subcon to tell them the beast would no longer be a danger to anyone.'”**

  
  


The ghost's glowing eyes just so happened to glance down, and he immediately noticed little Jeremiah's own yellow eyes starting to close. His smile grew softer as his gaze returned to the words on the page.

  
**“'The kingdom of Subcon celebrated the beast's defeat, and peace returned to the kingdom. Their lives back to normal, the villagers lived happily ever after.'”**

  
  


Slowly, the child let out a breathy sigh as their eyes fluttered shut. Subcon's ruler smiled more.

  
  


_**'”The End.'”** _

  
  


Carefully, he shut the book, moving to set it down on the ottoman-

“'noduh stowy...”

  
  


_Ah, they weren't asleep, yet._

  
  


**“Another story? Well, I suppose _one_ more would not hurt...”**

Setting the book back onto his lap, the prince flipped the book open. **“Let me see... Ah, here is one! 'The Tale of the Moon'...”**

* * *

Another story was all that the prince needed to lull little Jeremiah to sleep. By the time he had finished the tale, the child was nestled against his chest, their eyes closed and their tiny hands gripping the soft mane they were laying against.

  
  


Sending the book floating back to the bookcase, the specter used his other hand to hold the child more securely as he carefully sat up straight. Yellow eyes stared at the sleeping child.

Soon enough, this child would be reunited with their father, and they would be sent to the mountains where the nomads had created a new civilization.

  
  


…

  
  


Was this what it was like to be a father?

  
  


It certainly _felt_ like it.

  
  


_…_

The ghostly ruler felt a **painful** sensation in his chest.

Finally, he wrestled with the _true_ reason why he had been so downcast, for some time.

* * *

Ever since he proposed to _her,_ he looked forward not only to their wedding day, but to the day he would become a father.

Yes, Subcon's children _were_ his children, but they all had parents of their own, already. He wanted _so much_ to have a child of his own; to raised them alongside _Vanessa..._

  
  


_He would never get that chance, now. He would_ **never** _have a child of his own._

**He would never get to raise a child of his own.**

  
  


The dream he had back at the swamp, the little child that would have been his... she felt so _real,_ like he had known her _all of his life._

Though the dream had not been real, and the girl had merely been a part of it, she still _haunted_ him.

  
  


_He wanted to know who that child was, what kind of person she would grow up to be..._

Just to see _his own child_ grow up...

_  
She was what could have been, but was lost at the hands of_ **Vanessa.**

  
  


_He would never know the child in his dream._

  
  


**He would never get to raise a child of his own.**

  
  


_**He would never get to be a father.** _

Silently, the specter shook, cradling the toddler in his arms as tears fell from his glowing eyes. As quietly as he possibly could, so as not to wake Jeremiah, the specter mourned the loss of the child in his dream; a non-existent child that now _would never have a chance to exist._

And that made his non-existent heart **twist** and **ache,** screaming silently in _**agony**_ as the specter **fought** to hold in the _undoubtedly loud sobs_ he would emit.

  
  


**He _hated_ Vanessa. **

  
  


She _robbed_ him of **everything:** _his life, his kingdom, seeing the children of the village grow up..._

  
  


**… and the child that now,** _**they could never have.**_

* * *

_… When did they arrive at his tree?_

  
  


Sensing a presence, the specter did his best to wipe away his tears with a rounded finger and compose himself. As he gazed up, he was met with the sight of Aureola _staring right at him._

Forcing a smile, the prince did his best to act natural.

**“A-Ah, hello, Aureola!”** he quietly greeted. **“Is there something you need from me?”**

  
  


The hat-maker had a small frown on their face, and a knowing look in their eyes.

  
  


He _immediately_ knew that _they didn't buy his act._ Nonetheless, he _tried_ to keep it cool.

_Emphasis on “tried.”_

  
  


**“Is something... wrong?”** the maned specter asked, smile wavering ever so slightly.

  
  


Silently, Aureola floated into the room and sat down on the ottoman. Without missing a beat, they stared at the forest's ruler with a look that seemed to reach _deep into his soul._

The prince turned his head to the left, a confused expression gracing his darkened face.

_What were they doing?_

  
  


**“Aureola, I do not understand what you-”**

  
  


“Talk.”

  
  


The ghostly prince blinked, surprised by the sudden command. **“Talk? What do you m-”**

“About what's bothering you. Talk.”

  
  


A _long_ moment of silence ensued...

  
  


Finally, the ruler of Subcon Forest sighed in defeat. There was no point in hiding it from the milliner; _they could read him like an open book._ So, rather reluctantly, the ghost started talking.

**“It is just...”** He trailed off, glancing away from Aureola as he tried to find his words. **“It is difficult to...”**

Finally, he sighed, and decided to just bare it all.

**“While I was carrying the little one back,”** he began, glancing down at the sleeping toddler against his chest, **“I felt like I was going to _cry_ from pure joy.”**

A true smile appeared on the ghost's face as they recalled the walk- er, _flight,_ rather- over. **“Oh, little Jeremiah would just point different things out and say what they were... You should have seen them!”** the larger ghost whispered, patting the toddler's head as they slept. **“Truly, they were such a joy!”  
**

  
  


Aureola listened intently, the frown on their face gradually fading away, yet a hint remaining as they waited to hear what was troubling the prince. All the while, they clasped their hands in their lap and listened as the prince recounted the things he had done with the child.

  
  


**“- I even read a couple of stories to them before they fell asleep!”**

Subcon's ruler chuckled, gazing down at the sleeping bundle clutching at his mane. **“It was wonderful, seeing the little one so full of life...”**

The milliner's gaze never left the shadowy phantom as he trailed off.

Slowly, the glowing fanged grin started to fade away as the maned ghost stared down at the sleeping Jeremiah. **“It was _wonderful,”_** he murmured, **“and I just wondered... if this is what it would feel like, to have my _own_ child...”**

  
  


In an instant, Aureola's gaze softened as the taller ghost's voice hitched slightly.

  
  


**“Back in the swamp, I had a dream after I passed out,”** Subcon's prince told them. **“I was alive, and I saw the children. They were _older_ than they had been, when they were alive, and I had a-”**

He cut himself off, tearing his gaze away from the slumbering toddler. **“I had a _child,_ Aureola. A little girl, about six years old, I think. I do not remember what she _looked like,_ but I just _knew_ she was _my child...”_**

  
  


Silence fell.

  
  


_He could feel his eyes watering._

  
  


Aureola's brow furrowed upwards, their frown growing more apparent.

  
  


**“All that I ever wanted in my life, _she_ stole away from me,”** he muttered, gazing up at the ceiling. **“I wanted to rule over this forest, watch the children grow up, bring prosperity and peace to our kingdom... and I wanted a life with _her._ I wanted to spend an _eternity_ with her. _I loved her...”_**

  
  


He shook very slightly, his hold on the toddler gently tightening as he pulled them to his chest.

  
  


**“I wanted _this,_ Aureola. I wanted to hold my child _just like this._ I wanted to _see_ my child grow up; I wanted to _see_ them grow into the person they would be, I wanted to _know_ who they would be. I wanted to spend days running around the forest with them, Vanessa with us, _all of us laughing and having fun-”_**

His voice hitched again, tears streaming down his face as he tried hard not to shake too much, and not to be too loud. _**“I wanted to raise our child,”**_ he whispered, voice hoarse. **“I wanted to _hold them_ against my chest _just like this,_ and _Vanessa took that from me...!”_**

  
  


Silent as normal, the hat-maker gently placed a hand on the specter's shoulder.

Mindful of the toddler he was holding, Subcon's prince quietly wept.

  
  


**“I will _never_ know what could have been, and- and that hurts so much-!”**

  
  


He had to stop, taking in breaths he didn't need as he tried to gather his thoughts more coherently.

**“I love the children, Aureola,"** he told the milliner. **"They are _so special,_ and _they are my children._ But they had their own parents. They had mothers, and fathers, and guardians, and parents, and people that took care of them and _loved_ them, and _I wanted that so much for myself._ I wanted to _hear_ my own child refer to me as their _father._ I wanted to hear _their first words,_ watch them _walk_ for the first time- I wanted to teach- to teach them _so much,_ and- and show them the _stars-_ I wanted to- to give them _everything-”_**

He tensed up, moving his head away so as not to cry on Jeremiah.

**_“- and she stole that from me._ She _stole_ the life of the child we _could_ have had away from me, and _I want to know what that little life would have become._ I _still_ want to know; is that a bad thing? I feel like- I feel like I should be _happy_ to- to have the children, and I am, I- I truly _am!_ But I feel _horrible;_ I _still_ want to know what that tiny little life would have been like, that little one growing up and ruling over the forest, just seeing them- seeing them _grow-”_**

  
  


Finally, he could speak no more. The prince of Subcon shook more and more, mourning the loss of the life he would **_never_** get to know.

  
  


All the while, Aureola pulled out a handkerchief and held it out for the prince, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

The prince paused, tears still streaming down his spectral face, before he took the handkerchief and shakily smiled. **“Th-Thank you, Au-Aureola...”** he stuttered, taking a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes.

Patiently, Aureola waited for him to finish.

  
  


**“I-I am sorry, I was just-”**

  
  


He paused as Aureola gently squeezed his shoulder. Turning his head back to the milliner, his eyes widened slightly as they spoke.

“It's okay to mourn what could have been,” they quietly told the spectral prince, “but don't let it get in the way of enjoying what you do have.”

  
  


… They were right, of course. Somehow, Aureola _always_ knew what a person needed the most.

  
  


Dabbing at his eyes, the prince let a genuine, glowing smile appear on his face.

**“You are right,”** he murmured, glancing back down at Jeremiah, who was somehow still asleep. **“Thank you, Aureola.”**

  
  


Aureola smiled. The prince handed their handkerchief back, which the hat-maker pocketed.

  
  


Holding out his now free hand, the prince of the forest summoned a blanket, carefully placing it over the sleeping child.

Jeremiah yawned, nestling further into the ghost's mane as they let out a tiny sigh.

  
  


… The prince's eyes watered, again; this time, out of joy.

  
  


Aureola pulled the handkerchief back out, handing it to the prince while they pat his shoulder. “You need it more,” was their only response.

Chuckling sheepishly, the prince accepted it, again. **“I may be like this, all night,”** the specter remarked. **“Ah, would you mind taking over, if I happen to doze off?”**

The milliner nodded.

Sighing in relief, the prince of Subcon thanked them as he made himself comfortable, wiping away stray tears that were shed from the _adorable_ sight of the toddler sleeping away against him.

* * *

Morning arrived- at least, according to the grandfather clock. The moon hung perpetually in the middle of the sky, and the clock chimed six times.

  
  


The maned prince had fallen asleep, sometime during the night. As the last of the clock's chimes died away, the thin yellow lines of the ghost's eyes expanded as he awoke, blearily blinking as consciousness returned to him. With a groan, the ghost sat up, a large blanket tumbling to the floor from the movement.

  
  


_Where did he get that blanket from?_ He didn't remember summoning one _that_ big for-

  
  


The ghost jolted upright, eyes snapping wide open. **“Jeremiah!?”** he called, realizing the child was no longer in his arms. **“Where did you-”**

He cut himself off as he whipped his head to the left, noticing Aureola still sitting on the ottoman. In their arms was little Jeremiah, munching on a piece of grape.

The milliner smiled slightly. “Good Morning,” they quietly said.

  
  


The prince blinked a couple of times in surprise.

  
  


**“Ah... Good Morning, you two.”**

* * *

Despite the rather startling start to his morning, the prince felt rather refreshed after a quick breakfast.

  
  


He couldn't control himself when the preserved bacon came out; the ghostly ruler _scarfed_ his whole plate down without second thought, much to everyone's surprise and little Jeremiah's amusement.

After a few frantic apologies for his behavior- and reassurances from Ophelia that she didn't mind at all, the shadowy specter soon found himself perched on a tree stump in Subcon Village. He watched over the ghostly children and little Jeremiah, the latter stubbornly refusing to go anywhere without him, now that he was awake.

  
  


Not that the prince minded any; after all, the little one was _still_ missing their father, and if the maned ghost's presence kept them from being frightened, he was _more_ than happy to stick around.

Fortunately, the toddler didn't want to stick to his side like glue. In fact, they were rather curious about the masked spirits that floated curiously around the living child. Within a few minutes of meeting each other, the ghostly children even had their tails wrapped around Jeremiah's tiny hands, leading them around to play games.

  
  


_Heck, that was another way to warm the soul._

  
  


A chuckle escaped the maned ghost. These kids were _the best._

  
  


_Someone new entered the forest. He could sense them._

  
  


Floating up, the ghost turned his gaze towards the same direction that the toddler had come from. With narrowed, glowing eyes, the prince began floating off towards the laboratory-

  
  


“NO!”

  
  


He _dead stopped,_ spinning around to look at Jeremiah. The toddler had taken notice of his attempt to leave, promptly let go of the tails they were holding, and rushed over as fast as their stubby legs would go to cling onto his tail.

The tall ghost frowned. **“Do you not want me to go?”** he asked the toddler.

_“No go!”_ the child insisted, hugging the specter's tail with a death grip.

  
  


He wasn't surprised much, but it was _still_ somewhat stunning how quickly the child took to him. Perhaps they were just clinging to him as a temporary parental figure, given their father was nowhere in sight?

  
  


… Whatever the case, he didn't have the **heart** to upset the poor child.

_He didn't have a heart, period, but that was beside the point._

  
  


**“All right, I will stay,”** the ghost reassured the toddler, lifting his tail off to carefully pluck the child off of it.

Almost instantly, Jeremiah let go of the maned ghost's tail and made grabby-hands at him. Chuckling, the prince obliged the request, holding the child close to his chest and letting their small, two-fingered hands clutch his mane.

He turned to Diana, who was sharpening their blade nearby. **“Diana, someone has entered the forest, but uh...”**

He paused, motioning to the child he was holding. **“I am a bit... _preoccupied_ at the moment. Would you mind taking a look?”**

“Not at all,” the blacksmith replied, sheathing the blade while they stood up. “Just finished sharpening, too. Horace, you mind coming with me?”

Horace- who had been sewing a new collar onto a dress- glanced up and nodded, placing the dress down and grabbing his halberd and shield. “Of course! Always happy to help!”

**“Thank you both!”** The ghost quickly expressed his gratitude, before pointing towards Frederick's lab. **“They are coming from the same direction little Jeremiah came from; please be careful, just in case...”**

“Don't worry; we'll be careful,” Diana reassured the ghostly ruler.

With that, the blacksmith and tailor departed from the village, heading straight for where the new soul was.

  
  


Subcon's ruler sighed, sitting back down on the tree stump. **“The forest is starting to get more visitors, it would seem,”** he remarked, glancing down at little Jeremiah. **“Perhaps your father will be one of them!”**

Jeremiah blinked, their yellow eyes locking onto the maned ghost. “Want Daddy.”

The prince sighed, nodding slightly. **“I am sure he will be here, soon...”**

As the ghostly prince held the child up, Joseph happened to pass by, eating an apple. “Oh, hello, Your Highness!” the former stable hand greeted, pausing to glance at the toddler. “Oh, is that the kid that doesn't like apples?”

The maned ghost chuckled. **“Yes, this is the little apple-hater,”** he joked.

“Ah, well, more for me,” Joseph replied, taking another bite of apple just as Zacharias flew by.

“Hey, where did you get that apple?” the miller asked.

“From Ophelia,” Joseph replied after swallowing his bite.

“We still have apples, and you didn't tell _me?”_ Zacharias stared at the former stable hand in shock. “You _know_ I love apples!”

“No appuh,” Jeremiah stated.

Zacharias blinked. “No apple?”

“Yeah, the kiddo doesn't like apples,” Joseph told the miller, biting off another piece of apple.

“The heck? This kid _must_ be crazy!” Zacharias replied, arching a figurative eyebrow in amusement and slight disbelief.

  
  


Jeremiah blew a raspberry.

  
  


**“Jeremiah! That was not nice!”** the specter exclaimed, absolutely surprised by the child's rudeness.

“Hey!” Zacharias indignantly cried.

“You _kind of_ deserved that,” Joseph pointed out.

  
  


Zacharias lightly tapped the back of Joseph's spectral head, purely out of annoyance.

Joseph blinked, before hitting Zacharias's head when they weren't looking.

Subcon's noble stared at the two in disbelief, his mouth a thin, straight line.

  
  


Zacharias and Joseph weren't siblings, but they certainly did _act_ like they were.

And _oh, boy, they were fighting like them, now._

  
  


**“Now, stop that, you two,”** the maned phantom scolded, a frown appearing on his face.

He motioned to the toddler in his arms and the ghostly children gathering to watch the fight. **“This is _no way_ to behave in front of the children!”**

  
  


Despite being their prince, his words fell on deaf ears as Zacharias pulled Joseph into a headlock.

  
  


“Let go-!” Joseph protested, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to break free.

“Sorry, can't do that!” Zacharias laughed, a smug grin stretching across their face.

  
  


Subcon's ghostly ruler shook his head and sighed, glancing around at his young wards. **“Children, take note of this; this is _not_ how an adult should behave.”**

  
  


The ghostly children shook slightly, their silent giggling clearly sensed by the massive specter.

He couldn't help but smile slightly.

  
  


All fighting between the miller and former stable hand ceased in an instant when Opehlia emerged from her home, saw the scuffle, and floated over to grab them both by the hand and drag them away.

“Honestly, you two! You are _grown adults;_ you should know better than to fight!” she sternly scolded, dragging the two ghosts away from the prince and the children.

  
  


A collective, inaudible _"Oooooooh"_ came from the ghostly children.

  
  


_They're in trouble._

  
  


The specter frowned, a slightly serious expression appearing on his face as he glanced at the children. **“Now, you should _not_ be enjoying this,”** he tutted, holding Jeremiah up with one hand to wag a finger at the ghostly little ones.

They all hung their heads in shame. Subcon's prince could feel them all mumble a simultaneous _“Sorry”_.

  
  


His expression lightened slightly, as a hint of a fanged smile reappeared on his face. **“It is fine, but _do_ be mindful of the feelings of those around you,”** informed the maned ghost.

  
  


_Diana and Horace were returning, and they were bringing the new soul along with them._

  
  


Snapping right to attention, the ghost floated up from the tree stump and in front of the masked spirits. It wasn't long before the tall ghost spotted the blacksmith and tailor approaching him, along with another former desert-dweller.

The hooded man appeared quite disheveled; it was as though he had been wandering for some time before he reached the forest. He walked with a limp, holding onto one arm as though he were injured.

Little Jeremiah turned forward. All of a sudden, the child's yellow eyes grew massive as they _struggled_ to get to the ground, prompting the spectral prince to act quickly and get a hold of the child before they fell out of his grasp.

_“Daddy!”_ the toddler cried, kicking their legs as they tried to get down.

The instant that word reached his non-existent ears, the maned ghost wasted no time in _carefully_ placing the little one on the ground so they could rush to their father.

  
  


The injured man took one look at the toddler running for him, and was overcome with emotion.

“Oh, thank heavens, Jeremiah!” he cried, ignoring his injuries as he hurried over and scooped up the child. “I am so, so sorry I left you alone...!”

The ruler of the forest smiled, his eyes watering slightly.

  
  


_Oh, this felt good._

* * *

After being tended to by Frederick, the father revealed that he had escaped from the former desert kingdom with his child. His intentions were to go to Subcon Forest for safety, having assumed that the former desert prince was there.

  
  


“Some soldiers had caught up to us,” the father told Subcon's prince, “We were so close to the forest... I told Jeremiah to run in there. I had to distract the guards from them; I couldn't let them take my child-”

Jeremiah's father- Ike was his name- paused, shuddering as he tried to collect himself.

  
  


Naturally, the specter frowned at what he heard.

**“They tried to _capture you?”_** he inquired.

  
  


The hooded man nodded, eyes cast at the ground. “I just _barely_ managed to escape from the soldiers, once they caught me,” he recalled. “Loose bar on the cage; I slipped out when they were distracted.”

  
  


_The fact that they would go so far as to try and capture_ **a father and his child...!**

  
  


Setting a hand on Ike's shoulder, the prince of the forest gave him a reassuring look.

  
  


**“You are safe, here,”** he reassured the father. **“However, I must inform you that the former prince of your kingdom is not here, anymore.”**

“What?” Ike blinked a few times as he processed the specter's words. “How can that be?”

**“Well, I _may_ have lied to the Cabinet Minister, in order to help the people that escaped from your kingdom find a new spot to settle down,”** the specter mischievously remarked. Soon enough, however, his tone returned to its normal formality. **“When you are better, I will have some of the villagers take you and Jeremiah to the mountains. It will be faster, and both of you will be safe from the Cabinet Minister's soldiers.”**

  
  


Sighing in relief, Ike laid down on a makeshift bed. “Thank you... Thank you for this, for taking care of my child... Just... _thank you...”_

The specter smiled a bit more, nodding as he removed his hand from the hooded man's shoulder.

**“It was not a problem, at all.”**

* * *

Once Ike had recovered from his injuries, Subcon's monarch summoned up the document that the nomads had signed, many months ago. Ike took the quill that appeared and signed his name, along with little Jeremiah's, once the specter had informed the father that he could sign for the child.

  
The prince of Subcon also handed a letter meant for the former desert prince.

It was a simple thank-you letter for managing to get the other countries of the world to recognize his leadership, and asking **"How in the _world_ did you get the other countries to recognize a ghost as the ruler of Subcon Forest?"**

He couldn't **_wait_** to read how the former noble pulled something like that off.

Clarissa and Gwendolyn led the father and child out of the forest, their path leading straight for the mountains where the nomads where.

As the maned ghost and other villagers saw the four off, Subcon's prince spotted little Jeremiah looking over their father's shoulder.

“Bye-bye,” the little one said, waving a tiny hand at the maned ghost.

  
  


_… Heavens, his eyes were filling with tears, again!_

  
  


He felt something in his hand.

  
  


Looking down, the maned ghost noticed Aureola handing him their handkerchief. Their eyes seemed to ask a clear question, that he immediately understood without them needing to speak.

  
  


_“Will you be okay?”_

  
  


Dabbing away the tears with a handkerchief, Subcon's prince smiled at the milliner and nodded. **“I will be fine, do not worry,”** he reassured them. **“Thank you for the handkerchief.”**

The hat-maker nodded as the prince handed back the folded cloth.

  
  


Turning back to the departing group, the two resumed waving, the taller granting well-wishes while the shorter merely smiled.


	13. The Courier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When times are bleak, allies are found in the unlikeliest of places.

All was quiet in Subcon Forest. Nothing stirred in the late hours of the eternal night, save for the occasional scuttling of a spider across the ground or in the trees.

  
  


Subcon Village was asleep, the ghostly villagers comfortable in their beds. The children slumbered peacefully, all of them curled up and clutching their little toys.

Little Denise slept underneath the new blanket the prince had made for them. They had been _so_ excited, flipping joyfully through the air as they wrapped their serpentine form around the specters neck in the best hug they could give! All day long, Denise flew around with their new blanket, not leaving it alone for a second. Eventually, they had ended up tiring themselves out so much, they fell asleep and were put to bed early.

While the other residents of the forest rested in their homes, the prince of Subcon Forest stayed up, leaning forward in his chair and resting his figurative chin on a fist. In his other hand, he held the list of desert-dwellers that the former desert prince had given to him.

  
  


Ike and Jeremiah's names were crossed off; Clarissa and Gwendolyn safely escorted the father and child to the settlement the nomads had in the mountains, and returned with a letter from the former ruler of the desert.

  
  


Apparently, before the coup, the former prince of the desert had sent a formal request to the other countries of the world to give legal recognition of the prince of Subcon's right to rule.

The former desert prince remembered that some of the people that went through the desert- notably from other countries- were traveling through to Subcon Forest; something that the specter remembered, as he had welcomed those people with open arms. The now nomadic prince assumed that the people that happened to travel through the spooky forest vouched for the spectral ruler's credibility, _and the fact he was a ghost._

With that logic, the younger prince also ventured that there were enough credible sources to convince the rulers of the other countries to adjust their laws _ever so slightly,_ merely to compensate for the fact that Subcon's residents were _spirits_ and would need legal rights over _their own forest._

It was the _only possible explanation_ for the other countries of the world agreeing to give _legal recognition_ and _property rights_ to a bunch of **_ghosts._**

  
  


The prince had chuckled upon finishing the letter. Good news all around, despite the rather _unfavorable_ circumstances the inhabitants of the forest found themselves in.

Now, however, the forest's ruler frowned as he gazed over the list of people still missing.

  
  


_So many people..._

  
  


They probably had _no idea_ that Ike and Jeremiah were safe.

**They probably thought _their_ prince was still in Subcon Forest.**

_**Would they know to escape to the forest for safety?** _

  
  


The ghostly monarch glanced over another list lying on the ottoman; a list of information about each person still missing.

When sending Ike and Jeremiah off to the mountains, he had forgotten to ask for this information in his letter to the now-nomadic prince. Fortunately, he managed to ask Gwendolyn and Clarissa if they would inquire about this information when they reached the mountains.

  
  


_Boy, did the nomads deliver.  
_

  
  


Descriptions of where the people lived, villages, questions and answers that only those people would know...

All of this would be **extremely** helpful.

  
  


Sighing slightly, the ghostly prince set the list he was holding down, and held his head in his now-free hand.

He had been deliberating long and hard about what to do. _Those poor people in those desert villages..._

  
  


The prince snapped the lists away.

  
  


Tomorrow, he was going to talk to Diana and Julio. Maybe they could think of a way to notify the denizens still trapped under the Cabinet Minister's rule that Subcon Forest was a safe haven for them.

* * *

When it came to ideas for how to get the information out to the trapped citizens of the desert, neither Diana nor Julio could come up with ideas that were safe enough to _not_ get the poor prisoners of the desert in trouble.

  
  


They couldn't actually go _into_ the desert; the political backlash that could cause would be **immense,** even though the Cabinet Minister had been the one to initiate the whole conflict, in the first place.

Subcon's ghostly ruler didn't know if the other countries were even _aware_ that the desert kingdom had been taken over; he hadn't seen a messenger from any other country, for a while. In fact, it was entirely possible that the Cabinet Minister was having troops _intercept messengers from foreign nations._

  
  


_The very thought_ **angered** _the maned prince._

  
  


“We need to do something,” Diana stated, resting their chin on their fist. “We can't just leave those poor people to suffer under the Cabinet Minister's reign.”

“Yes, but what can we do?” Julio questioned, floating about with his arms crossed. “We can't _physically_ go into the neighboring kingdom, and they're probably keeping tabs on people who live there; trying to shape-shift to look like someone else to send a message out to the other countries would probably end _poorly.”_

Clasping his hands together, the prince of the forest hummed, his yellow eyes staring at the floor as he thought hard about their situation.

 **“Even if we are ghosts, if we went into the desert to fight their forces, we would be leaving Subcon vulnerable to attacks from _her,”_** the shadowy specter mused aloud. **“We also do not know how great their numbers are. More importantly, if we launched an attack- all political ramifications aside, the Cabinet Minister might _harm_ the denizens of the kingdom that are still trapped under his rule.”**

The trio mulled this over.

  
  


_They had **no idea** what to do._

  
  


The prince closed his eyes, trying _desperately_ to think of some kind of solution-

  
  


_Someone entered the forest._

  
  


His glowing eyes flew open. **“There is someone in the forest; come with me.”**

Not asking any questions, Horace and Diana reacted quickly, following after their ruler as he darted from the tree's interior and hurried off to the edge of the forest.

* * *

It didn't take long for all three to reach the end of the forest. Once they had, they all hid behind trees and waited to get a glimpse of the new person.

They soon heard the sound of footsteps trudging through the dirt.

Diana and Julio readied their weapons.

The prince of the forest shifted his fingers into claws.

The stranger grew closer.

His glowing eyes narrowed.

Soon, the possible intruder stepped into view.

  
  


_A human. Orange hair, green eyes, a bag with a messenger's insignia on it-_

**Wait a minute-**

  
  


The maned ghost's eyes grew _gigantic._ Motioning for the two villagers to lower their weapons, the spectral prince floated out from behind the tree.

The messenger's eyes widened as they stepped back, gasping in shock as the specter appeared in their line of sight.

**“Wait, wait, do not be alarmed!”** the ghost quickly exclaimed, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner. **“I mean you no harm!”**

The human stared at the maned ghost, utter disbelief written plain across the face, intermingling with intense fear.

Subcon's ruler nervously smiled. **“You are a courier from outside of the desert, correct?”**

Slowly, the stranger nodded.

  
  


_He couldn't believe it. An_ **actual** _messenger from **another kingdom!**_

  
  


**“I know you must be very confused and frightened, but if you would please listen carefully, I can explain _everything.”_**

* * *

“Okay- wait- the Cabinet Minister did _what!?”_

  
  


After a brisk flight back to Subcon Village- and after snapping the poor messenger out of their partially-terrified state, the shadowy specter wasted no time in informing the messenger of the current state of affairs involving the forest's desert neighbors. Naturally, the messenger- whose name was Clarence- took the news about as well as the maned ghost expected; they were _utterly shocked._

“But- But why? Why would he do something like this!?” Clarence asked, mouth still open from surprise and confusion.

**“We do not know,”** the prince replied, smoothing out his mane with a hand. **“Whatever his reasons, he has what people remain in the desert under observation. I fear what may become of them if we tried to intervene, or beseech the other countries to help.”**

The courier's brow furrowed as they crossed their arms. “Well, that sure as heck explains all of the messengers to Subcon coming back injured,” they remarked.

  
  


A _large_ frown appeared on the specter's face as he whipped around to face the foreign messenger.

  
  


**“Wait, are you saying messengers sent to Subcon Forest were _attacked?”_** he inquired, visibly alarmed.

“Yeah,” Clarence replied, biting their inner cheek. “The soldiers from the desert would bring couriers back injured or unconscious. They said they were attacked by a band of thieves. None of the royal messengers from the other countries have woken up, yet.”

They rubbed the back of their head. “The Cabinet Minister said he hadn't heard from Subcon for a while, but that he would deliver your letters. When we didn't get any news from him about your responses, some of the other rulers began having their suspicions. So they sent me under the guise of heading to the Cabinet Minister to deliver a message.”

Oh, he would have _gritted his teeth_ is he didn't have only two fangs.

**"Have the other countries not sent ships to Subcon?"** the specter asked. **"After all, most of the forest is surrounded by ocean."**

"They tried," Clarence explained, "but all of the ships vanished under 'mysterious circumstances'. We haven't heard back from _any_ of them."

Subcon's ruler had to use **all** of his inner strength to remain composed. Despite his attempts to restrain his fury, one of his hands clenched into a fist as he floated up, his gaze turning towards his tree home.

  
  


**“First the coup d'etat, then _intentionally_ trying to capture _a fleeing father and his child,_ and now _this...”_**

He held his forehead.

  
  


“I could return home and send a message out to the other countries about these events,” suggested the courier.

Shaking his head, the prince turned about to face the courier as he rubbed his ghostly temple.

 **“Tell the other countries, yes,”** the ruler said, **“but I ask you to inform them not to act, at the current moment. I do not want the Cabinet Minister to retaliate by harming the people that were left behind after his little coup.”**

A swift nod from Clarence assured him that the deed would be done.

**“There is one more thing,”** the specter mentioned, stroking his mane as he floated off to the side. **“We are trying to alert the remaining citizens of the desert that Subcon is a safe haven for refugees, after a father and child managed to make their way here. We need to let them know that there _is_ hope for safety, in the forest.”**

He turned about, glancing at Clarence with a serious expression on his darkened features.

**“If we can give those people hope of escape, we can take them into our borders when they try to flee from the tyrannical rule of the usurper. If you can convince even _one_ of the other countries of the world to send a courier to discreetly inform the citizens-”**

“Say no more; I volunteer myself,” Clarence suddenly interrupted.

  
  


_... Well, that caught the prince off-guard._

  
  


**“I-I could not ask you to do such a thing, after coming so far to get here-”**

“No, I want to!” the courier replied, their hands balling up into fists. “Heck, I'll even _resign_ as royal courier, if that's what it takes! … After I deliver your message back across the border, of course.”

… A genuine, _grateful_ smile appeared on the specter's face.

**“You are very brave,”** the ghost replied, setting a hand on the messenger's shoulder. **“We are _forever grateful_ for your help.”**

Clarence grinned and nodded, their expression resolute as they gazed up at the spectral ruler. “So what's the plan?”

In an instant, the specter's fanged grin matched the courier's as he removed his hand from their shoulder.

**“First, deliver your message to the Cabinet Minister. _Do not_ try to inform the tyrant's subjugated people about Subcon Forest, just yet,”** the ghost stressed, floating about as though he were pacing. **“Instead, make sure you get back to your country safely to deliver _my_ message to your ruler. In case _anything_ goes wrong, we will need the other countries to be aware of the situation, so we can plan another way to aid the citizens of the captured kingdom.”**

Intently listening, Clarence nodded a few times as the specter gave his commands.

**“Once the other countries have been informed and approve your return, head straight to the desert and _discreetly_ inform the citizens about the safe arrival of two refugees from their kingdom.”**

The prince soon stopped his floating around, turning back to Clarence.

**“Now, notifying your country of the situation and telling the people of the desert that Subcon Forest is a safe haven are two of the _utmost_ priorities you have,"** he informed the messenger, **"but if it is possible, I ask that you take the time to deliver messages from the other countries to us. Act as though you are delivering messages to the Cabinet Minister; do _not_ take written documents or letters meant for Subcon, but _memorize_ them, if you can.”**

“I wasn't sent here just because I'm good at delivering _physical_ letters,” Clarence replied with a smile.

Subcon's ruler grinned even more widely. **“Is there any place hidden in the desert we can meet up at? Somewhere on the way to the kingdom next door?”**

For a brief moment, the messenger went into deep thought. “There is a place just between a couple of checkpoints,” they mentioned. “I haven't been past that point; they'll be expecting me to arrive at the next checkpoint, soon.”

  
  


The ghost hummed in thought as his glowing eyes closed.

When he opened them, he asked the courier two _vital_ questions:

  
  


**“Can you describe the spot, and would you mind helping me test something?”**

* * *

Thanks to Clarence's help, the spectral prince soon found out that he could, indeed, teleport with other people, _without_ harming them in any way.

Needless to say, this aided in traveling to the location the messenger described; a place that the maned ghost and his people had passed by on their way to the desert kingdom, so long ago.

The place in question was a decently-sized rock, leaning against one of the massive dunes in a way that provided a small overhang to hide underneath, and was _just_ out of sight of any of the Cabinet Minister's guards that happened to be on patrol.

The specter pulled himself out of the ground, carrying Clarence easily in one arm as they both appeared underneath the shady overhang.

**“Can you make it to the next checkpoint from here?”** the shadowy specter asked, his glowing features bright in the darkened space as he set the courier down.

Clarence nodded, brushing off their clothes as they prepared to head off. “I'll be fine; If everything goes well, I'll be back in a couple of weeks or so. I may not be able to stick around-”

The courier motioned to where the checkpoints were.

“- so if I can't be here in person, I'll try hiding any messages for Subcon somewhere around here. They expect us to have parchment and a quill on hand, if we need to write something down, so it shouldn't be too hard!”

 **“I would _greatly_ appreciate that,”** the ghost thanked them, before floating down to pat the messenger's shoulder. **“Stay safe; we are _counting_ on you.”**

A confident grin spread across Clarence's face as they nodded at the prince. “I _won't_ let you down!”

  
  


Their farewells soon given to one another, the foreign courier departed from underneath the rocky overhang, heading off for the next checkpoint on the way to the desert kingdom.

Sighing as quietly as he could, the shadowy phantom dove back into the ground, immediately returning home to Subcon Forest.

  
  


_He would just have to wait and see how things turned out._

* * *

Two months passed, and the specter of Subcon Forest hadn't heard _any_ news from the royal courier.

  
  


After it had been two weeks, the ghostly noble made it a habit to check the overhang daily, searching for any sign of Clarence.

Much to his dismay, he found _nothing._

  
  


He feared the worst; _if he had sent that poor messenger to their_ **death...**

  
  


“They may have been held up,” Diana pointed out, polishing their blade carefully as they spoke. “I wouldn't jump to conclusions, yet.”

Julio nodded in agreement, watering a small potted flower that he happened to be growing. “It's also possible that the other countries didn't want to risk sending Clarence back into desert," the gardener added.

Subcon's spectral ruler remained concerned, despite the attempts made to reassure him.

**“I only hope we did not send that poor courier to their death,”** the maned ghost muttered, holding a hand against his head.

The gardener frowned slightly, before he extended a blue hand to pat the ruler's shoulder.

“I'm sure they're fine,” Julio reassured the worried prince. “The worst _is_ possible, but don't assume that's what happened.”

… A small sigh escaped the spectral noble.

**“You are right,”** the ghost realized, nodding as he turned to the smaller ghost. **“After all, the desert is vast, and the other countries far away.”**

“Aye, that they are,” Diana remarked, “Just give them a bit more time.”

The prince briefly held his figurative chin. **“I think I will check the overhang again, today,”** he mused. **“Perhaps I _just_ missed-”**

  
  


_A group of people entered the forest._

  
  


**“Alert the village; we have intruders!”** the prince commanded, diving straight through the ground.

  
  


In no time at all, he popped up near where the group was at. Rising up into the trees, the ghostly prince carefully made his way to a higher elevation. His glowing, yellow eyes narrowed and he tried to get a closer look at _who_ had entered the forest.

Through the mostly-bare branches of the trees, the prince spotted...

  
  


_Hoods. Short bodies. Fur-_   
  
  
  


He held back a relieved laugh.

  
  


Without a doubt, these people were _refugees!_

  
  


_Clarence had done it!_

  
  


_**“Wait!”** _

The travelers all jumped, startled by the unseen voice.

“Wh-Who's there...?” one of them stuttered, nervously glancing here and there in search of the voice.

They needn't have searched; soon enough, the glowing face of Subcon's prince appeared behind the group of refugees.

**“Do not be scared,”** the ghost told them.

Despite the request, quite a few of the former desert-dwellers fell back in surprise, or clung to one another.

The prince's fanged smile lessened slightly, but much befitting his status as a ruler, the ghost straightened himself out and gave the kindest smile he could with his fanged mouth.

  
  


**“I know I am quite _terrifying_ to behold, but _please_ believe me when I say this: _you are safe, now.”_**


	14. Hard Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One can only smile and work through the rough patches.

The sands of the desert burned hot from the scorching sun, the landscape waving as the temperatures grew greater. The endless sand was harsh and unforgiving, just like the forces of the usurper that took control of the desert. The soldiers ceaselessly patrolled each checkpoint, ensuing that any royal messengers from other countries went only to the Cabinet Minister.

One messenger, however, managed to sneak from the path and to a shady overhang. The courier checked to be sure they weren't followed, before stealthily slipping into the shade of the giant rock that leaned against a blistering-hot dune. Ripping their keffiyeh off of their head, Clarence sighed in relief, moving further into the overhang as they wiped sweat from their brow. They approached an inky figure in the corner of the shady spot, and saluted them.

"Your Highness," they addressed the shadow, "I have delivered your message updating my country of the current status of the refugees."

Turning his head, the spectral prince of Subcon Forest gave the courier a huge, glowing smile as he clasped his hands together. **"Well done, Clarence!"** he exclaimed, raising a figurative eyebrow as he noticed the courier's state. **"Good heavens, you look _exhausted!"_**

Nodding sluggishly, Clarence wiped their forehead with the back of their hand, once more. "The desert is... _really_ hot, today," they told the ghost, before leaning forward and resting their hands on their knees. _"Phew..."_

With a snap of his talon-like fingers, the ruler of Subcon summoned a tankard of water for the courier, floating it over to the parched individual.

 **"Here, sit down for a moment,"** the specter instructed.

"Ah, thank you!" Not wasting a second, Clarence took the tankard in a hand and fell back onto the sand, leaning against a rock as they gulped down the fresh, cool water.

Screwing their eyes shut, the royal messenger lowered the tankard and sighed. _"Whew..._ that's the stuff..." they gasped, wiping their mouth with the sleeve of their travel robe. They spent a moment to catch their breath, before they turned their attention to the specter.

"His Majesty sends his regards," they told the prince, "and says that Subcon Forest always has his support, and the support of my country. The moment you get all of the refugees to safety, he'll rally the armies and help reclaim the desert from the Cabinet Minister."

His fanged smile kind, the phantom nodded slowly. **"Tell him we are grateful for his support,"** he instructed Clarence, **"and that we have only ten refugees left unaccounted for."**

Instantly, the courier's eyes widened. _"Only_ ten?" they said, "Heavens, we'll be able to storm the desert in no time, at this rate!"

Unable to contain his joy, the forest's prince chuckled. **"Indeed; let us hope that we will have no further complications."**

Smiling from ear to ear, Clarence glance out at the opening of the overhang. "I'll have to get back on the road, in a minute," they mentioned, their smile wavering just slightly.

The ghost frowned, wringing his clawed hands slightly. **"Are you _certain_ you cannot stay a bit longer?"** the ghost inquired, **"You look so tired..."**

Now solemn, the courier slowly nodded, swishing the water in their tankard around slightly. "The soldiers are getting more strict; their patrols are increasing in numbers and frequency, which means I won't be able to spend as much time, here."

Though concerned and disappointed, the specter understood. As much as he would like the royal messenger to rest, they couldn't risk being caught by any of the Cabinet Minister's soldiers.

 **"Of course,"** the ghost finally said, acknowledging the urgency of the situation. **"I cannot thank you _enough_ for risking your life like this, just to keep us in contact with the rest of the world..."**

A dismissive wave of their hand silenced the ghostly prince as Clarence put on another smile. "It's not a problem," they replied, "I volunteered, didn't I?"

... A grin appeared on the ghost's face. **"Even so, thank you, Clarence. Once this is all over, I will only trust _you_ to be the official courier from your kingdom to Subcon Forest."**

"Once this is all over," the messenger agreed.

All of a sudden, they grinned and raised their tankard into the air.

"Here's to no complications!" Clarence toasted.

Summoning his own cup, the fanged ghost tapped it against the tankard. **"To no complications!"**

The messenger downed the last of the water in their tankard, while the prince slowly drank his water from the much smaller cup.

* * *

In a matter of months, Subcon's ghostly residents had aided _countless refugees_ escaping from the Cabinet Minister's iron fist. Citizens of the former desert kingdom sought their freedom in Subcon Forest's boundaries, and the forest's ruler and his people were _more than happy_ to provide shelter for them. Naturally, each person they helped signed the document that Subcon's prince made declaring the forest's alliance with the nomads, securing the travelers' promised safety with their own hands.

As more and more names were checked off of the list of missing people, the prince of Subcon couldn't help but feel _good_ about what they were doing. Helping these innocent people escape from a tyrant ruler was an _amazing_ feeling; mostly because that meant they wouldn't suffer any longer from the Cabinet Minister's iron fist.

Each time they sent refugees up to the mountains, the prince would send a letter to the former desert prince with the refugees, asking how he and the nomads were faring, mentioning the current events going on, and inquiring if he had any information about the Cabinet Minister; who he was, where he came from, and so on, so forth. When the villagers sent with the refugees returned, they would bring a letter from the nomadic prince that Subcon's ruler would read over.

* * *

Apparently, the nomads had met some goats that helped them establish a settlement. According to the former prince's letter, they were nice, but could be a bit _pushy_ if someone got in their way.

That gave Subcon's prince a good chuckle.

Regarding the Cabinet Minister, the former prince of the desert mentioned that he didn't know where the tyrant was originally from. What he _did_ know, however, was information he had told the ghostly prince when the former desert ruler had been recovering from his injuries in Subcon.

The Cabinet Minister originally led a life of thievery, before the desert's deceased king took him in. The thief proved to have a great deal of wisdom in politics, which caught the former ruler's eye. Ever since, the former thief had served the former king honorably and enthusiastically.

There was one new piece of information that the noble nomad managed to get from some of the other travelers. While the Cabinet Minister's real name was unknown, apparently he had used the alias “Shady Sunburnt” during his thieving days.

  
  


“That is, without a doubt, the most _ridiculous_ name I have ever heard, in both my life _and_ afterlife,” Maurice had wasted no time in saying.

“ _I_ could come up with a better thief name than that!” Selene scoffed.

“Selene, honey,” Clarissa replied with a shake of her head, “You wouldn't steal so much as a _crumb,_ let alone anything else.”

A serious gaze appeared on the carpenter's face as she stared at Clarissa, uttering only one word in response.

_“Exactly.”_

While the other villagers discussed the absolutely _horrible_ code name their enemy used to sport, the maned specter frowned as he read over the letter once more.

  
  


This was... not a lot of information to go on, but it was better than nothing.

* * *

Aside from talking with the former desert noble, Subcon's own royal received messages directly from Clarence every two weeks.

The other countries of the world agreed to keep their knowledge of the coup secret, in order to prevent the Cabinet Minister from reacting violently towards the innocent people in the desert. The ruler of Clarence's country directed them to deliver messages to the Cabinet Minister, but also to memorize messages meant for the prince of Subcon.

Once the messenger got past the checkpoints safely, they would go to the overhang between two of the checkpoints and either recite the message directly to the specter, or- if the maned ghost wasn't there- write the message down and leave it hidden under the overhang.

  
  


It was a _much_ safer method than the other options, _but it still had its risks._

  
  


Clarence had _nearly_ been caught a couple of times; their _only_ saving grace was the fact that the prince had been there to pull them away to Subcon to hide, before returning them to the meeting spot once the coast was clear.

Despite the close calls, Clarence was **stalwart** in making sure all messages to Subcon Forest were safely delivered to the prince.

* * *

One day, a _different_ message arrived for the spectral ruler, in a manner he _never_ expected.

It happened after he had helped Anne with sewing together the soles of a pair of shoes to leather. The day had been rather calm- as calm as it could be, given the cobbler's energetic storytelling while they both worked.

"I was just minding my own business, and Zacharias had the _nerve_ to grab some mud from the swamp and _fling it_ at me!"

Slightly amused by the tale, the maned ghost glanced up from his work to stare at Anne with an inquisitive eyebrow. **"I did not know that mud bothered you, Anne,"** he remarked, **"You never seemed to mind mud, at all..."**

"I don't!" she exclaimed, completing a pair of boots as she spoke. "I just don't like _other people_ getting mud on me."

Setting the finished footwear up on a shelf, the cobbler shook out her hands slightly. "So long story short, I grabbed a bucket of the muck and SLAMMED IT ON ZACHARIAS' HEAD!" she proudly yelled.

Shocked from both her suddenly yelling and what she did, the specter _nearly_ dropped the pair of shoes he was working on. 

_**"Anne!"**_ he cried in a slightly scolding tone.

"What? They started it!" the cobbler argued. "They shouldn't fling mud if they don't want it dumped back on them!"

A slightly exasperated- yet amused- sigh left the prince as he finished up his work.

  
  


_He suddenly sensed a soul enter the forest._

  
  


**"Anne, someone has entered the forest,"** the taller ghost said.

In an instant, Anne flew over to him with her hammer in her grasp. "You want me to go with you and give them what-for?" she eagerly asked, her spectral eyes gleaming brightly with excitement.

**"Oh, no, _no!"_** he quickly said, waving his hands nervously as he shook his head. **"I need you to tell the rest of the village."**

The cobbler stared at him for a moment, her figurative brow furrowing as she frowned.

"Are you _sure_ you don't need another set of eyes?" she seriously inquired.

Swiftly, he nodded. **"I am _certain._ Please, hurry and inform the village of our intruder."**

"I'm on the job!" Anne cried, saluting the ruler as she flew out of her home.

Exiting the cobbler's abode, the prince dove through the ground and teleported over to the edge of the forest.

He blinked suddenly, realizing that the individual was no longer _inside_ of the forest, but _outside_ of it.

Surprised, he took a moment to look around, his glowing eyes scanning the area outside of Subcon's borders. His eyes fell to the ground as he noticed a small letter, stamped with-

_The seal of the desert kingdom._

He instantly frowned, carefully lifting the envelope up between two fingers.

  
  


_One person was nearby._

  
  


Squinting, the ghost turned his head towards the direction he sensed the person. He could glimpse a pair of _very_ nervous eyes peering from behind a rock.

A hum of thought escaped him, before he turned and floated back into the forest.

* * *

When he returned to his tree, a talon-like finger swiftly sliced the top of the envelope. Once the letter inside was freed and carefully opened, the ruler sat down in his armchair to peruse its contents. The adults all gathered around the tree, patiently- yet eagerly- waiting for their monarch to reveal the contents of the correspondence.

  
  


It was a letter from the Cabinet Minister- or _Shady,_ as the prince decided to mentally call him.

  
  


The maned specter frowned, his figurative brow furrowing as he read through the letter.

  
  


Apparently, Shady was _cordially_ _inviting_ Subcon's ruler to the desert in order to discuss negotiations for releasing the former desert prince and all of the refugees- or “criminals”, as the usurper called them- into the custody of the desert guards, in return for halting all further attempts to send soldiers into Subcon Forest.

  
  


The more he read, the deeper the ghost's fanged frown grew, shifting into a **seething** scowl in a matter of seconds.

  
  


_The nerve! He would_ **dare** _call those innocent refugees_ **criminals,** _ **after what he did!?**_

  
  


“You should tell Shady that he can take his 'negotiations' and-”

_“Zacharias!”_ Ophelia interrupted, “Mind your tongue!”

The miller rubbed the back of their head. “Sorry, ma'am,” they muttered, glancing away nervously.

Amusement overtaking his fury for a moment, the shadowy ghost chuckled and shook his head. **“As much as I would like to say that, Zacharias,”** he began, **“I _must_ remain formal and polite; _the lives of innocent people are at risk,_ and I _cannot_ afford to give the Cabinet Minister even _one_ insult, as much as I would like to.”**

His response prompted a dismayed look from Ophelia, and a cheeky grin from Zacharias.

Soon, the ghost summoned some parchment and his quill and inkwell. Tapping the end of the writing instrument against his glowing mouth, the ghostly royal got to work with writing his response.

  
  


  
  


_Dear Minister:_

_I thank you sincerely for the invitation. After spending so long in combat against your soldiers, my people want more than anything to settle matters peacefully._

_However, I fear that negotiations may not be possible. The former prince of the kingdom you now run- as I have made it clear- is under my protection, as are his people. I cannot, in good conscience, send them back to the desert after the injuries they endured from your forces._

_Furthermore, I fail to see how the people you requested me to release into your custody- such as a father and his two-year-old child, a widowed mother of five, siblings no older than the age of 14, and an elderly couple- could possibly be considered criminals. I may merely be a prince, but I am well-versed in the laws of my kingdom and the laws of other countries, including your own, and cannot understand what laws these people could have broken to warrant such aggression from your soldiers._

_Perhaps we could come to a compromise that would be beneficial to both of us. If you would be so kind as to come to Subcon Forest when you have the time, I would like to discuss allowing the remaining citizens from your kingdom to safely relocate to within the borders of my kingdom, or to the borders of another country._

  
  


  
  


Here, he proceeded to word his terms and conditions in a way that would make it so Shady _would not_ be able to harm _any_ of the remaining citizens of the neighboring kingdom **in any way.**

  
  


**_He loved being a lawyer._ **

  
  


Once he was done writing a lengthy, _iron-clad_ paragraph, he resumed writing the remainder of the letter.

  
  


  
  


_I truly hope that you will be able to visit us here, in Subcon Forest. We have the most delightful food, thanks to our local baker, which we could use to prepare a fine feast for your visit. Our stores of clothing, shoes, weapons, and various other wares would make for wonderful goods to trade with you, should you be willing. Perhaps you could also help me to understand what makes the people that have come to my forest's borders “criminals”, while you are here._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Prince-_

  
  


“HA!” Anne laughed, balling her hands into fists as a wide grin spread across her face. "Nice job! Maybe that'll get him to reconsider sending people into the forest!”

The specter- interrupted by the cobbler's exclamation- laughed slightly, himself.

**“Oh, I certainly hope so,”** he replied, completing his signature as he spoke. **“Perhaps he will actually _come;_ one can hope, after all!”**

Once the ink had dried and the parchment was safely sealed in a new envelope, the prince of Subcon Forest teleported back to where he had found the Cabinet Minister's letter.

  
  


_There was someone behind a rock, in the distance._

  
  


He glanced over at the rock, noticing a pair of eyes peering out, just like before.

They belonged to the same person that had presumably delivered the tyrant's letter.

Silently, the specter laid the letter down on the ground, nodding slightly to the peering individual before he floated back into the forest.

He waited behind a tree.

  
  


_The person moved closer to the forest's entrance, slowly but surely, before they suddenly darted off._

  
  


By the time the specter sneaked a glance back at the edge of the forest, both the individual and the letter were gone.

* * *

Two weeks went by in a flash.

_It was time to check for any messages from Clarence._

  
  


Emerging underneath the overhang of their rendezvous point, the maned ghost of Subcon Forest took a brief second to see if anyone was nearby.

  
  


_Not a person in sight, or sensed._

  
  


Sadly, that also meant _Clarence_ wasn't there.

Though disappointed, the ghost wasted no time in searching the usual spot where the courier hid their letters; underneath a small, sandstone rock. Lifting the up the smooth stone, he soon spotted a piece of parchment from Clarence.

As he removed the parchment from the hiding spot, the specter paused briefly as he observed the quality of the ink. It was somewhat messy and slightly smeared, as though it had been written in a hurry. Glancing over the bottom of the rock revealed dry ink stains that confirmed his observations.

  
  


_That **couldn't** be a good sign._

* * *

Back at his tree home, the ghostly prince squinted at the parchment in his hand as he tried to read the scrawling, smeared words that made up the note.

Upon spending the better part of five minutes deciphering Clarence's hurried, messy letter, he soon frowned as he realized what the parchment said.

  
  


  
  


_Your Royal Highness,_

  
  


_I ask that you forgive my rudeness, but I haven't much time to write._

_The Cabinet Minister has ordered that all couriers in and out of the country be escorted by soldiers, “for the safety of the royal messengers,” as he put it. The moment I reached the border, two soldiers immediately came to my side and explained the situation, before escorting me through the desert checkpoints. I had to come up with the excuse that I needed to use the restroom, in order to get to our usual meeting spot to write this letter._

_I fear that I may not be able to deliver messages meant for Subcon, anymore. They would undoubtedly become suspicious if I kept making up excuses just to get to this spot. I sincerely apologize, and hope that you will understand._

_I will not leave you without good news, however. The citizens still trapped under the Cabinet Minister's reign are planning on escaping to Subcon Forest, relatively soon. There are ten in total. Hopefully, that should match up with the number of citizens missing on the list you have, as you mentioned the last time we spoke._

_Once I have delivered the message meant for the Cabinet Minister to his hands, the soldiers will escort me back across the border to my country. That will be the last that you will hear from me, for the time being._

_I have the honor to remain, Sir, Your Highness's most humble and obedient subject._

_Clarence Staffe_

  
  


  
  


Setting the letter aside, the prince of Subcon Forest held his head with a clawed hand and groaned.

  
  


**There would be no way to send messages to the other countries of the world, now.**

  
  


Snapping his fingers, the ghost summoned the list of people still missing from the desert. Sure enough, there were _ten people left_ whose names weren't crossed off.

If he ever had the privilege of seeing Clarence again, the ghostly prince decided he would give the courier the _highest_ award, for their courage and service. They deserved that much, after risking their life _so many times_ to relay messages between Subcon Forest and the other nations.

Now, without a courier to deliver and send messages, Subcon Forest would be cut off from the outside world, once more.

  
  


More _important_ matters took the ghostly inhabitants' minds off of that matter, however.

  
  


With the knowledge that the last ten refugees would arrive when they could, the villagers all made sure to prepare for them, gathering supplies that the travelers would need on the way to the mountains. Food was preserved, clean water heated and sealed into containers, clothes, tents, blankets, and shoes all made...

  
  


They used nearly _all_ of their resources for the refugees that would soon come.

  
  


_If it helped the refugees get to the nomads safely,_ **that was all the residents of the forest cared about.**

  
Eventually, the villagers of Subcon gathered up everything that the former desert-dwellers would need in the mountains. Supplies ready to go, all they could do was wait for the refugees to arrive.

* * *

_There wasn't a moment of peace in the village for_ **days.**

  
  


The ghosts of Subcon Forest were busy scaring away the swarms of soldiers that trespassed into the forest. Shady's forces were being sent in greater numbers to retrieve the escaped desert-dwellers that were slowly- but surely- seeking refuge in the forest, and that meant that the prince and the villagers had to work rapidly to keep the troops at bay. Sadly, after a while, the villagers' scaring routine stopped working as well as it had, and they had been forced to pull out their weapons and fight the soldiers directly.

  
  


“We can't keep doing this,” Horace finally said, after they had fought off the desert soldiers for the tenth time that month.

“Even if we're ghosts, we can't keep fighting _forever,”_ Clarissa remarked.

Diana sighed, nodding slightly as they sat down on a rock. “Not only is it demoralizing for everyone,” they said, “but constantly having to hide _definitely_ won't be good for the children's well-being.

“What can we do?” Zacharias asked, motioning to everyone there. “The Cabinet Minister won't stop sending soldiers here, anytime soon, and we have no way of _forcing_ him to quit! He'll hurt the remaining refugees if we try to retaliate!”

  
  


The villagers murmured to each other, all of them stumped on what to do.

Frowning, the maned phantom turned to glance at the forest's edge.

  
  


_They were right; Shady wouldn't stop until he was_ **forced** _to._

  
  


**“Let us return to the village, for now,”** the ghost decided, **“We will discuss the best course of action, once we have gotten some rest.”**

  
  


The group of ghosts floated back to their homes, eager to get some sleep after the fight.

All the while, their prince floated about his home, pacing as he pondered what to do.

They couldn't keep fighting Shady's forces off, like this, but striking back would lead to innocent people being hurt, or _worse..._

  
  


There was **nothing** they could do until the last of the refugees made it to Subcon.

  
  


Sitting down in his chair, the maned specter of Subcon Forest released a tired sigh. He _knew_ what his decision would be.

  
  


_The moment the last refugee was safely in the mountains, he would have to speak with the Cabinet Minister, himself._

* * *

Eventually, the remaining refugees arrived in small groups or one-by-one, a few injured while others were unharmed.

More names were added to the treaty between Subcon Forest and the mountains, and the forest's prince took the time to write out letters for the nomads that were sent with each refugee _and_ group of refugees that came into the forest.

While gazing at the last name left unchecked on the group of missing persons, the maned ghost soon realized something he hadn't thought about, before.

After the last refugee arrived, if he still wished to keep in touch with the nomads of the mountains, _he would have to send his own people there._

  
  


A frown stretched across his face at the realization.

As much as he would like to continue communicating with the nomadic group, he didn't want to risk sending his people to the mountains unless _absolutely necessary._ The refugees had given him an excuse to write letters, but once the last refugee went to the mountains, there would be no further reason to risk sending people outside of the forest to go there.

He had _tried_ to teleport there, in order to make the trip easier for the refugees and to speak with the former desert prince in person, but the ghost soon discovered that when he went through the ground, he ended up going absolutely nowhere! After a few attempts of trying to get to the mountains, he came to the conclusion that he was unable to teleport to any place that _he hadn't been to, before._

In other words, unless he flew all of the way over to the mountains- something that was dangerous to do for _many_ reasons, he would have _no way_ of further communicating with the nomads.

The thought fresh in his mind, the ghostly ruler greeted the final refugee as they made it into the forest, saw them off to Ophelia's home for fresh food and water, then got to work writing a proper letter of- hopefully _temporary-_ farewell to the nomads.

Recalling the hard time the former desert prince was having with deciding a name for the mountains in his last letter, the prince of Subcon Forest wrote that no matter what name the living former noble chose, it would undoubtedly be a good one.

When Clarissa and Gwendolyn returned from the mountains with a written response, the maned specter sat down in his chair and read through it.

  
  


The younger prince sent his regards, thanked the ghost _dearly_ for all of his help, wished him the best in all he did, and...

Oh, the nomad decided on a name for the mountains! Let's see...

  
  


_The Alpine Skyline._

  
  


… The shadowy ghost smiled.

  
  


A good name; if only he could tell the former desert-dweller that...

* * *

The next day, the forest went back to its normal, sleepy- if somewhat macabre- state.

  
  


_The villagers and their ruler welcomed that peace with open arms._

  
  


Shady hadn't sent any soldiers over, since the last few refugees arrived. Hopefully, that meant he had given up with trying to get into the forest.

Subcon's monarch doubted that was the case, however. He still had plans to head into the desert later that day, and speak with the usurper, personally.

That aside, due to how quiet the tyrant and his forces were being, the ghost decided to give the Cabinet Minister a chance to relent and leave the forest be, when the ghost went to talk with him.

If Shady did, all of Subcon's ghostly residents had agreed they would not try to attack the usurper and his forces.

If he didn't, however...

_Well, the former thief didn't have any more hostages to get the forest's residents to **stay back.**_

  
  


All grim thoughts about combat aside, the forest felt significantly lighter in mood than it had been, for some time.

Clarissa and Selene worked on carpentry together, Joseph worked on fixing up a few clocks, Maurice fitted some gemstones into a new necklace, Horace finished up a new pair of trousers...

Anne was working tirelessly on finishing a new pair of boots.

Ophelia was baking bread with what little flour they had left.

Raymond and Frederick were teaching the children.

Diana was forging a new breastplate.

William was weaving a new flag.

Zacharias was grinding the last of the wheat.

Gwendolyn was repairing some of the towers around the forest.

Aureola was busy shaping the crown of a new hat.

Julio was busy tending to the plants in his house: a tall, somewhat intact building right across from the village, that also served as the storehouse for food, water, supplies, materials, and other such items.

While Julio took care of the plants, the prince busied himself with taking inventory of everything in the storehouse's lower levels; a task that proved rather depressing.

  
  


_They didn't have much of anything left._

  
  


**“We may not be able to make anything, in a few weeks,”** was the ruler's grim comment.

Julio poked his head down from the upper levels of the building. “Yes, I noticed that, myself,” he replied, a thoughtful look crossing his blue face.

 **“I suppose there is nothing to be done about that,”** the maned ghost solemnly stated. **“Without a means of safely trading with other countries, we will have no way to produce goods, like we used to.”**

  
  


_He thought back to years ago, when the villagers became depressed due to not being able to perform the jobs they did, when they were alive._

**It pained him to remember that time.**

  
  


**“If only something could be done...”** he murmured, glancing down at the inventory list he had written up.

The somber expression on the shadowy specter's face prompted the gardener to float down and gently place a hand on the taller ghost's shoulder.

As the prince glanced over at Julio, the gardener smiled and pointed up at the ceiling.

“Why don't you come upstairs, Your Highness?” suggested the blue ghost. “There's something I've been working on for a while, and I think it's about time I showed it to you.”

Perplexed, the prince followed the gardener up to the higher floors.

In an instant, the specter's yellow eyes grew _huge._

  
  


Growing in containers on the upper floors were plants. But not just _any_ plants, oh no; the ghostly prince could recognize the distinctive appearances of wheat, corn, grapes, rosemary, thyme, potatoes, carrots, cabbages-

  
  


_**“Good heavens...!”**_ he whispered, stunned by the amount of crops that were growing in Julio's home.

The gardener beamed and floated in front of the royal ghost, laughing heartily as he crossed his arms with pride.

“I got the crops growing in the forest's dirt,” Julio eagerly announced, ”and not just food, but things like cotton, too! Once I've gotten enough to replant these plants, we can start a farm outside of my house.”

He paused, stroking his figurative chin. “We don't need to cut the trees outside down, I don't think; there's barely any leaves on them, and all of these plants grow in the moonlight.”

Letting out an overjoyed laugh, the prince pat Julio on the shoulder eagerly, his grin stretching wide across his ghostly face.

**“Julio, you _genius!”_** he cried. **“With these crops, we can continue producing goods for years to come!”**

“Aw, there was nothing to it,” the gardener replied, waving off the praise. “I still need to figure out how to get the pumpkins going, but I'll bet you that we'll be having pumpkin pie again, by the time fall comes around.”

  
  


Subcon's prince _full-stopped,_ glancing at Julio with gigantic eyes.

  
  


**“Julio, do _not_ toy with me, now,”** the maned ghost seriously said, **“are you _certain_ that you can get pumpkins growing?”**

“It'll take some time to figure it out, but it's definitely possible!” the gardener answered with a firm nod.

  
  


The phantom's face gained an expression that could only be described as a kid opening up their birthday presents.

  
  


**“If anyone can pull it off, it is you!”** the shadowy phantom cried, laughing more as he clasped his clawed hands together. **“Imagine it; pumpkin spice hot cocoa...”**

“The pumpkin pie,” Julio added.

**“Pumpkin carving-”**

“Pumpkin spice cupcakes-”

**“Pumpkin butter-”**

“Pumpkin bread-”

**“Pumpkin soup-”**

“Pumpkin pudding-”

**“Pumpkin seed necklaces for the children!”**

The gardener and prince joyously laughed, their arms across the others' shoulders as their booming guffaw filled the house.

**“This is absolutely _wonderful!”_** cried the taller ghost. **“I cannot wait to tell the rest of the village the good news!”**

  
  


_Someone new was in the forest._

  
  


The prince's smile faded.

Julio only needed to take one look at Subcon's ruler to guess what was going on.

“How many?” the gardener soon inquired.

**“Just one,”** replied the specter, his figurative brow furrowing in thought. **“We are not expecting any more refugees; it could be another scout Shady sent. Or perhaps he finally replied to my-”**

He cleared his throat. _**“- polite invitation.”**_

Nodding quickly, Julio floated downstairs. “I'll tell the others to be on guard.”

**“Thank you.”**

  
  


Swiftly, the specter of the forest dove into the ground, teleporting behind a tree near the individual.

Careful to not be spotted, the ghost peered out from behind the tree, his yellow eyes narrowing as he sized up the stranger.

  
  


_Brown hair, five fingers-_

  
  


Wait, _five fingers?_

  
  


They were _human-_

  
  


Silent from shock, the ghostly specter moved from tree to tree, taking cover behind the towering trunks as he studied the human a bit more closely.

  
  


They were wearing disheveled, dirty traveler's robes, and scuffed-up boots. On their hip was a brown bag, held up by a brown strap that went over their right shoulder. The bag itself was plain in design; tired, faded leather with a simple, square shape and a flap; it was meant more for travelers than couriers, but it also wasn't an ideal bag for one traversing the desert by themselves. There was also no sign of a waterskin, or any containers meant for water.

The stranger's hair was greasy, covered with bits of sand here and there, and appeared as though it hadn't been combed for days. The person in question seemed to have a few scrapes, here and there, and their gait was slow, unsteady, and held a hint of a limp in it. Bags hung underneath their eyes, and their entire body was drenched with sweat from the sun; this only provided a surface for sand to cake parts of their skin in patches.

  
  


Needless to say, the prince was utterly _baffled._

  
  


This person _clearly_ wasn't a refugee he knew of, but as far as he could tell, they _weren't_ a messenger from the Cabinet Minister, _or_ a soldier. They appeared to just be a regular traveler.

_Not only that, but they were completely and utterly_ **alone.**

  
  


Despite his wariness of the stranger, it was obvious they were in bad shape. Far be it from Subcon's ruler to _deny help_ to someone who **needed** it.

  
  


Composing himself, the ghost descended into the ground, appearing directly in front of the traveler.

It was only natural that his sudden appearance would cause the weary traveler to respond the way anyone would: _freezing in place with wide-eyed terror._

  
  


**“Before you scream,”** the ghost quickly said, **“I must ask; how did you get all of the way out here?”**

  
  


Instead of a response, the traveler's eyes rolled back in their head as their body went limp, falling backwards and flat onto the ground with a loud _thump._

Subcon's spectral monarch stared for a moment, registering what happened.

**“... I suppose questions will have to wait.”**


	15. Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The desire to protect sometimes leads to unexpected discoveries.

He didn't know who this stranger was, but they _**desperately**_ needed a shower.

The ghost had spent the better half of the past ten minutes floating through the forest, holding the unconscious stranger in his arms. Despite his hesitation in touching the person from their stench alone, he knew that this unfortunate person- _whoever_ they were- _needed help._

**He wouldn't just _leave them_ on the ground to get help; the forest was _dangerous,_ after all.**

His aim was to take the traveler to the tower he had found the children in, so long ago. There, the stranger could stay until they were conscious and able to answer the questions the specter had for them.

_At least, that was his plan, initially._

He had carried the unconscious traveler as far as Joseph's wall-less house when they stirred, their eyes slowly fluttering open. A good, long moment passed where the traveler was figuring out what was going on, gazing upwards as they tried to get their vision to focus.

What they saw was a glowing, yellow, concerned face staring right at them.

**“Please do not faint, I am not going to hurt you,”** the specter calmly stated.

  
  


_Silence._

_Then-_

  
  


_“AUGH-!”_

  
  


With a loud yelp of fright, the traveler immediately struggled to get out of the specter's hold, startling the ghost enough to accidentally drop them. Another cry soon escaped the poor human as they landed harshly on the ground, groaning as they sat up.

The ghostly prince held a hand over his glowing mouth, before floating lower to the ground.

**“I-I am so sorry,”** was his stuttered apology, **“are you all right?”**

After landing so hard against the forest's floor- which kept them from immediately scrambling to flee from the specter, the traveler could only lay there as terror rooted them to the spot.

Sighing internally, the phantom held his hands up and backed away a bit.

**"I am not going to hurt you; please, _calm down,"_** he kindly requested.

Blinking a good few times, the traveler's face relaxed slightly as they gazed at the ghost before them.

“You... You're not?” was their question.

**“Not at all,”** confirmed the prince, wiping his hands together slightly as he composed himself, once more. **“I actually had a few questions I would like to ask you; but first, shall I send for some food and water? Pardon my saying this, but you appear to have been lacking in both, for some time.”**

The traveler blinked once more, surprised by the offer. “U-Uh... yeah, that would be great,” they answered, still stunned by the fact that there was a _ghost_ offering them food and drink.

Fanged smile returning to his face, Subcon's ruler floated back up. **“Wonderful! Can you walk?”**

Shakily, the stranger managed to stand up and take a few steps. “I think- I think so,” they soon replied.  
  


 **“Good, good,”** the ghost replied, **“then come along; there is a place where you can rest and get your bearings just nearby.”**

  
  


Motioning with a talon-like finger, the maned phantom floated past Joseph's house, keeping his speed slow for the traveler that trailed behind him.

* * *

_In all of his afterlife, he had **never** seen someone gulp down food and water as fast as this mysterious stranger._

  
  


Hunched down over a sealed crated in the tower near Joseph's house- and digging ravenously into a plate of food- was the traveler. The moment Ophelia had brought in food and placed it down on the crate, the poor stranger had lunged for it, tearing into each morsel like a wild, starved animal. Every so often, they would grab a small tankard of fresh water and gulp it down greedily between bites, before setting it back down and resuming their feeding frenzy.

Floating next to Ophelia was none other than the prince, who exchanged a worried glance with Ophelia, every so often.

  
  


_He could relate to how the traveler felt; going for so long without food or water was_ **agonizing.**

  
  


Once the traveler had finished consuming every last bit of food and had downed the last of their water, they leaned back against the wall and sighed.

“That was wonderful,” they tiredly complimented. “Thank you...”

“Always happy to help!” Ophelia replied, before turning to the prince. “If you don't mind, Your Highness, I must return to the village.”

 **“Of course. Thank you for your help, Ophelia,”** the specter said, smiling as the green ghost flew out of the tower.

Once the baker was gone, the ruler of Subcon Forest turned to the traveler, fingers netted together.

**“Now, if you would not mind, I have some questions that I would like to ask you,”** the ghost soon said.

The stranger raised a curious eyebrow. “All right; what do you want to know?”

**“Well, first of all, what is your name?”**

“Lewis Skylark.”

  
  


Lewis Skylark. Definitely _not_ a name on the refugee list, the ghost recalled. _So they weren't copying anyone..._

  
  


**“Okay, Lewis, would you mind telling me how you ended up here? And how you avoided the soldiers at the checkpoints?”**

Lewis soon rubbed the back of their head, smiling sheepishly as the specter. “Well, I was traveling to the desert to sell some wares, back before the checkpoints,” they mentioned, “and I _kind of_ got trapped there for a while.”

**“Wares?”** inquired the phantom.

With a nod, the traveler sighed and held their forehead. “I'm a merchant,” they soon explained. “The soldiers confiscated _everything_ I had and threw me into a house to stay in. Gave me a little food and water...”

They grimaced slightly. “I saved what I could of it until I had enough, grabbed a satchel and threw them inside, and climbed out of a window when it got dark. I just _barely_ avoided the soldiers, and ran out of food about a week or so through the desert.”

A frown soon sullied the specter's face. **“How did you know Subcon would be safe to travel to?**

  
  


“Oh, some of the citizens were talking about it, when the guards weren't around,” Lewis answered, “So I figured I'd bide my time and wait for the right moment to head here.”

  
  


… Well, that certainly made sense.

  
  


The fact that the merchant had been _trapped_ by Shady...

_If the usurper had captured a merchant, were there possibly **other people** in the desert that were imprisoned?_

_The thought made the specter's nonexistent stomach **twist tightly.**_

  
  


**“Well, you are welcome to stay here until you have recovered your strength,”** the prince informed the merchant, soon snapping out of his contemplative state.

“Oh, thank you so much, Your Highness!” Lewis exclaimed, “I promise you, I will do my best to not be a burden!”

 **“No need for that,”** the ghost replied, **“you are my guest; it is only right that you are treated as such.”**

“I-I am honored!” the traveler replied, bowing to the royal phantom.

A kind smile couldn't help but spread across the ghost's inky face. This merchant was polite to a fault; they certainly deserved some rest, after their ordeal.

**"Well, I will leave you to rest, for a while,"** the noble said, floating to the tower's entrance. **"Some of the villages are fetching water from the well, so that you may... ah..."**

With a clawed hand, he motioned to Lewis' unkempt state.

**"Tidy yourself up, a bit."**

Sheepishly, the merchant rubbed their greasy hair and laughed slightly. "I _greatly_ appreciate that," Lewis thanked the ghost. "Travelling through a desert _and_ a canyon is _rough._ I feel lucky to be alive, right now!"

A chuckle escaped the specter as he clasped his hands together. **"I believe you; the canyon is _notorious_ for being difficult to travel through-"**

  
  


_William was outside._

  
  


Without missing a beat, the ghost turned his head to the tower's entrance just as William peered inside.

“Your Highness,” the weaver stressed, “we were hauling water up from the well- for the newcomer-”

He shook his head, skipping to the point.

_“Selene is being attacked by one of those statues!”_

Yellow eyes wide with terror, the specter whipped around to Lewis. **“Please, wait here,"** he instructed the merchant, before darting out of the tower with William.

Slowly rising to their feet, Lewis slowly limped over to the tower's entrance to watch them leave, a hand placed against the wall for balance.

With their other hand, they reached into their satchel, pulling a small tome from the bag.

* * *

Selene gritted her teeth as she slammed a rock into the face of the angel statue that currently had her arm gripped in its stony grasp. _“Get off, you stone nuisance!_ ” the carpenter shrieked, ramming the sharp projectile into the cherub's eye.

The statue didn't seem to care for her demands, as it continued to drag the poor ghost away with ease.

Clarissa growled slightly as she fought with all of her might to pulled the cursed statue back, struggling to keep the carved stone being from spiriting Selene way. “How the heck are these things so _strong!?”_ she roared, spectral eyes closed tight as she tried to halt the statue's progress.

William and the prince soon arrived, the prince staring in utter horror for a brief moment, before **glaring** at the stony menace.

  
  


_The edges of his vision began fading._

**He felt anger rise in his spectral chest.**

_**How dare they?** _

  
  


Claws sharp, the ghost dove into the ground and popped up behind the statue, talon-like fingers raised high into the sky.

_**“Duck!”** _

  
  


Selene and Clarissa immediately obeyed the prince's command, falling to the ground in less than a second.

  
  


With a swipe of his claws, the maned ghost **slashed clean through** the statue's neck, their head toppling down from their shoulders. Instantly, the angelic stone threat _collapsed onto the ground,_ releasing the carpenter's arm.

  
  


Clarissa pulled Selene away from the statue as the ghostly prince of Subcon Forest grew taller than before. Now a behemoth, the specter **snatched up** the statue and **_chucked it_** to the furthest reaches of the forest.

Selene shook slightly, rubbing her wrist where the statue had grabbed her as Clarissa helped her up.

Shrinking back down and his vision going back to normal, the ghostly prince floated over to the two, concern evident on his darkened face.

**“Are you all right?”** he quickly asked.

“Yeah, just a sore arm,” was the carpenter's response. “I'm fine. _Thank you,_ Your Highness.”

The specter sighed and nodded. **“Good... Head back to the village. I will-”**

  
  


_He sensed something._

_Some of the children in one part of the forest-_

**He felt _powerful fear_ radiating from them.**

_**What-** _

  
  


All of a sudden, the ruler spotted little Susan darting over to him, shivering and crying profusely. Terror seemed to envelop their entire being as they wrapped themselves around the specter's arm.

  
_It reminded him of when he had found the children, after he had escaped from-_

_**Something was horribly wrong.** _

  
  


**“Susan, what happened?”** the alarmed prince inquired, gently petting the masked spirit's head.

  
  


Though she was silent, he could _feel_ the little one's answer.

  
  


_A strange person is doing something bad! They're hurting Alexis and Denise!_

  
  


**He sensed them.**

_An unfamiliar soul near the children-_

_No._

  
  


**“Take Susan back to the village!”** the maned ghost ordered the three adults, untangling the child from his arm and diving into the ground as fast as he could.

  
  


_… Somehow, he couldn't pop up close to where the children were._

  
  


Utterly confused, he turned and-

  
  


**No.**

  
  


Lewis stood in front of him, their back to the specter, as they faced two masked spirits-

  
  


_Denise and Alexis._

  
  


His eyes grew _massive._

  
  


_He couldn't teleport near_ **any** _of them._

  
  


The merchant was reciting some kind of incantation. Whatever the spell was, it was _pulling_ on the two children, trying to suck them into some kind of container.

  
  


_The children were_ **screaming.**

  
  


**NO!**

  
  


He flew forward, hand outstretched as he tried with **all of his might** to get there before the children could be taken.

  
  


The children were pulled closer.

  
  


_They were scared. They were crying. He could_ **hear** _their **bloodcurdling screams.**_

  
  


His vision darkened around the edges, his eyes only focused on Lewis and the _two innocent children_ they were trying to **imprison.**

  
  


_**He wouldn't make it in time.** _

  
  


_“ **NO!!!”**_

* * *

**Lightning stuck.**

  
  


**It struck** **again.**

  
  


_**It didn't stop.** _

  
  


Lightning burst and flashed, striking the merchant where they stood. In an instant, Lewis jolted as each flash of lightning hit the merchant. Their tome slipped onto the ground, before the flashes of light blinded everyone that was there.

It happened _so quickly,_ that even the ruler of the forest could not tell what was going on.

Something _flew out of the merchant_ and to the phantom's hand.

  
  


_He grabbed it._

  
  


What _was_ it? He didn't know-

  
  


_He couldn't sense the merchant, anymore. Not where they stood, anyway._

_… He sensed the merchant_ **in his hand.**

  
  


Stunned, the specter stopped moving, glancing down at the writhing object in his hand.

  
  


It had a tail, and was purple, for some reason. _The face looked like_ **Lewis' face.**

  
  


Whatever had happened, it had caused Lewis to stop whatever ritual they were performing.

Denise and Alexis- now free from the magical pull of the container- darted off towards the village in a frantic flight, both of the children frightened for their afterlives.

Lewis blinked, rapidly patting their chest, before turning about to glance at the spectral ruler behind them. Panic was in the features of their face as they stared at the ghost, then at the thing clutched in his clawed hand.

“What- _What did you do to me!?”_ they demanded to know.

As a prince, the maned ghost was expected to _always_ be honest, and to be prepared to act in _any_ situation.

Law school had helped prepare him for that, as well.

Naturally, this meant he was _good at improvisation._

And- fortunately for him- he had a good understanding of _what just happened_ to aid him with **acting** like he knew _**what he had just done.**_

His fanged mouth turned into a _malevolent_ grin as he straightened himself up, gripping the writhing thing **tightly** in his hand.

  
  


**“Well, is it not obvious?”** he asked, figurative eyebrow raised in amusement. **“You see, this right here-”**

He held the odd thing up.

_**“- is your soul!”** _

  
  


Lewis' pupils became _pinpricks._

  
  


_**Good.** _

  
  


**“Now, this is how this whole situation is going to end,”** the phantom continued, **“you are going to tell me the truth about who you _really_ are, _who_ sent you here, and _what_ you were trying to do." **

The ghost paused for dramatic effect, pointing a finger directly at the merchant. **“Then, when you have answered my questions to my satisfaction, you will _leave_ Subcon Forest and _never return._ Once you are good and gone, I will send your soul back to you.”**

Lewis did their best to stare the specter in the eye, doing their best to stay somewhat brave. “And if I don't...?” the merchant stuttered.

The glowing eyes of the prince of the forest narrowed, his voice lowering to a _threatening,_ _spine-chilling tone._

  
  


**_“I will eat your soul, and toss your body into the swamp.”_ **

  
  


That statement _alone_ was enough to make the traveler gulp.

  
  


**“Do we have a deal?”** the ghost asked.

  
  


His grin grew greater as Lewis rapidly nodded.

* * *

The merchant wasn't a _merchant,_ but some kind of _sorcerer._

  
  


Shady had hired Lewis to go into Subcon Forest and capture some of the spirits there. Under the guise of a merchant, the mage had planned to capture the ghosts inside of some kind of box, in order for the Cabinet Minister to have something to negotiate with.

Once the negotiations had gone through in Shady's favor, Lewis had planned to use the captured spirits for some kind of spell or ritual, once they returned to their home.

  
  


_The thought of the children being used for **sickening, twisted magic...**_

  
  


Admittedly, the prince felt a rage **surge** through himself; a rage that made him want to _**pop the sorcerer's head right off.**_

  
  


He was _startled_ by this thought; he didn't want to _kill_ anyone, no matter _how_ evil they were!

  
  


_And yet..._

  
  


**It took all of the maned ghost's willpower to _not_ attack the Lewis where they stood.**

  
  


Once the fake merchant's book and satchel had been confiscated, the ghost wasted no time in sensing for souls, to be sure _no one else_ had been taken.

  
  


_All of the villagers and the children were accounted for._

  
  


Internally, he sighed in relief.

  
  


The moment Lewis was long and far away from the forest, the ghostly prince tossed the soul into the air, watching it fly off after the body it belonged to. With his hands free, he dusted them off and gazed at his claws, a shocked expression taking over his features.

  
  


How did he...?

  
  


_No, he couldn't focus on that, right now._ There was something **more important** than trying to figure out what he had done.

* * *

Seconds later, he popped up from the earth near the village, hurrying towards three specific souls.

Denise, Alexis, and Susan were all gathered together, Aureola and Ophelia doing their best to comfort the distraught children. Spotting the prince, however, the baker and hat-maker stepped aside to let the spectral ruler through.

  
  


All three of the children were shuddering _violently,_ cascades of tears running down their masks.

  
  


_Their fear was_ **palpable.**

**He couldn't stand to see them like this.**

  
  


Immediately, he went **straight over** to the little ones and crouched the best he could with just a tail.

 **“Children,”** he murmured, **“are you hurt, in _any_ way?”**

The _**moment**_ he uttered a single word, Denise, Alexis, and Susan turned their heads to look at him.

The prince was relieved to see Susan shake her head.

Alexis and Denise, however, _immediately_ flew at him, burying themselves in his mane and clinging to him _as tightly as they could_ with their tails.

Susan soon joined them, breaking down into loud, tearful sobs as she wrapped her tail around his neck.

_His heart was_ **breaking.**

**He was so _relieved_ they were okay.**

_**He almost lost them!** _

  
  


Carefully, he wrapped his arms around the children in a tight hug, bowing his head as he shushed them.

**“Everything is okay,”** he whispered, **“You are safe, now... _Shh...”_**

  
  


_They needed him._

He had been _so scared_ that he _wouldn't be able to save them._

_He thought he was going to_ **lose them.**

**He almost lost some of _his children._**

**He was _never_ going to let them go.**

_**He would never, ever, ever let them go.** _

* * *

Even after the children had fallen asleep, he didn't _dare_ let them go **for even a _second._**

  
  


Nestled comfortably in his mane, Susan, Denise, and Alexis all slept without any problems, their safety assured by the presence of the forest's prince.

His head was bowed over the three, eyes closed as he held them all close. All the while, the ghost thought and thought about what had occurred, that day, his mind a mess of thoughts that he was scrambling to put together in a coherent order.

  
  


_He almost lost his children._

_They had almost been_ **stolen away** _from him._

**Shady was willing to stoop so low as to harm _children!_**

**The prince was _furious._**

_**How dare that tyrant try to harm his children!?** _

**_If he hadn't taken Lewis' soul, what would have happened to Denise and Alexis!?_ **

  
  


...

  
  


How had he done it?

How was it _possible?_

_He could steal people's_ **souls!?**

**How was this possible!?**

**_How could this be...?_ **

**_… If he could steal people's souls..._ **

  
  


… Well, it was clear Shady _wasn't_ open to negotiations, anymore. He clearly had found someone capable of doing... _heavens-knows-what they were doing, actually..._

The fact was, the usurper found someone that could potentially _capture or hurt ghosts._

The sorcerer he sent had tried to _**take the children!**_

  
  


That _**enraged**_ the prince.

  
  


**_How dare Shady attempt to bring harm upon his children!?_ **

  
  


If the maned specter _hadn't_ stopped the sorcerer, there was **no knowing** **_what would have happened to the poor children!_**

  
  


_… What the ghostly ruler had done..._

  
  


**It would make an excellent deterrent for any enemy who would _dare_ try to harm his people.**

_**His family.** _

  
  


_There were people outside of his tree home._

_Diana, Julio, Ophelia-_

_**Everyone.** _

  
  


“Your Highness? Are you all right?”

The maned specter slowly turned to look at the forest's ghostly inhabitants, his gaze trailing across each and every one of them. What he was met with were worried eyes and frowns, and concerned stares.

  
  


_… With this power, he could_ **protect them all from the soldiers,** _from even people like **Lewis...**_

  
  


A smile graced his face.

  
  


**“Everyone, listen up!”** he whispered, not wanting to wake the three children asleep on his mane. **“I have just had the most _magnificent_ idea!”**


	16. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay one step ahead of your enemies.

_Metal boots stomping through the forest._

_Armor gleaming in the pale moonlight._

_Weapons at the ready._

  
  


They marched across the dirt path, their metal armor and weapons scraping and clanging with each step. Their goal was clear: seize control of the forest for the Cabinet Minister. They knew the forest was occupied by _ghosts,_ but the desert soldiers were _resolute_ in claiming Subcon Forest as part of their tyrant leader's territory. _Nothing_ would get in their way.

Rustling came from the foliage ahead.

The soldiers readied their weapons, getting into a combat-ready formation.

The rustling grew closer, and _louder._

The soldier at the lead narrowed their eyes, sword in hand as they prepared for battle.

_The bushes parted-_

\- and out tumbled a middle-aged woman, wheezing as she scrambled back onto her feet. Glancing behind herself at the bushes, the woman hurried away from the foliage.

“Halt!” the soldier ordered.

Yelping in fright, the woman whirled around, holding a hand against her chest. Her eyes momentarily filled with fear, before relief replaced it.

“Oh, thank _heavens!”_ she gasped, rushing over to the lead soldier to take their arm. “Please, take me away from here-!”

“Hold, citizen,” the soldier ordered, their cohorts all glancing to each other in confusion. “What are you doing in this forest?”

The woman kept glancing back at the bushes, as though something could _jump out of them at any second._ _“Please,_ we need to go!” she pleaded, “We can't stay here!”

“Whoa, calm down, miss-”

_“Please!_ We need to _leave!_ _Now!”_ she urged, shaking the soldier's forearm frantically. “If we don't leave soon, _he'll find us!”_

That gave the soldier pause. “Who?” they sternly inquired.

“The _prince!”_ the woman cried. “He's- He's gone mad! Ever since that sorcerer came, he's been acting strangely; he's been _stealing people's souls!_ Please, we need to go before he finds us-”

  
  


_“ **WHY HELLO THERE!”**_

  
  


The woman's eyes widened as she whirled around, soon spotting a snaking, inky form rising up from the ground in front of the group.

The form must have been at _least_ forty feet tall, with some kind of mane obscuring its face. In an instant, the shadowy mane flared out, revealing a pair of glowing yellow eyes and a wicked, fanged smile. Thin arms stretched out from the form, ending with a pair of clawed hands.

The apparition narrowed his eyes, the grin on his face widening maliciously.

  
  


“ **Did you _really_ think you could get away from me?” **the specter laughed.

  
  


The woman slowly released the soldier's arm, clasping her hands together tightly as she tentatively approached the ghost.

“Y-Your Highness,” she stammered, “I would _never-”_

  
  
 **“Save your breath!”** the specter snarled, **“I don't want your excuses! You _know_ the rules of MY forest!”**

Fear struck the woman as she backed away. “Y-Your Highness, _please,”_ she begged, “I-”

  
  


Without warning, the maned phantom shot an arm out, his talon-like fingers wrapping around the helpless woman. An ear-piercing shriek came from her as the ghost lifted her up into the air.

“No, no, _please-!”_

  
  


**He closed his hand _tightly._**

  
  


The soldiers all backed away, _horrified._

Grinning madly, the specter opened his hand, revealing a green ghost that soon floated up.

“ **You _fool,”_** he tutted, wagging a finger at the ghost. **“I _might_ have let you live a _little bit longer,_ if you hadn't run off. Now, back to your cage; you will make an _excellent dinner_ for me.”**

He flicked the ghost away to the deepest parts of the forest, a nefarious, booming laugh echoing all around as the group of soldiers backed even further away.

Their clanging armor drew the inky ghost's attention. Gazing down, the ghost raised a figurative eyebrow in amusement as he towered over the intruders.

“ **What's this? _More_ souls that have come crawling into my forest?” **he remarked, tone growing more dangerous than ever. **“You must** _ **really**_ **have a _death wish,_ don't you?”**

  
  


The only soldier to have any courage to stand up to the specter was the leader, who quickly rushed at the specter.

_“Fiend!”_ the soldier cried, “Move aside, or be slain!”

Crossing his arms, the prince of Subcon merely stayed there, watching in amusement as the soldier slashed their blade through his spectral form multiple times.

Gradually, the leader's attacks slowed to a halt as they realized _they weren't doing_ **any** _damage._

The maned specter **smirked** at them.

The leader backed away, terror taking hold as the entire group stepped away further from the maned ghost.

  
  


“ **Why, this must be my lucky day!”** the ghost exclaimed, **_“All of you_ will make a _fine feast!”_**

  
  


The soldiers bolted for the edge of the forest as the specter bellowed with joyous, villainous laughter, giving them a few good seconds to flee before he gave chase. Sharpened claws slashed at their heels as the soldiers retreated, the ghost _inches away_ from grabbing the lead soldier now at the back.

  
  


The soldiers were _terrified;_ **death seemed inevitable.**

  
  


Just then, they broke through the treeline, their boots hitting hard ground as the sun shined upon them.

Despite leaving Subcon Forest's eternal night, the enemies didn't stop running, gaining more and more distance from the terrifying specter as they raced back towards the desert kingdom.

The ruler of the forest watched them from the very boundary of his land.

His nefarious grin changed into a genuine smile as he glanced back to see the green ghost flying to his side.

“ **I must say, I think that went well!”** the prince exclaimed, **“You were a _wonderful_ actress, Ophelia!”**

Ophelia surely would have blushed if she could. Nonetheless, she bashfully smiled and placed a hand upon the side of her face, her other hand waving dismissively.

“Oh, please, it was _nothing!”_ she replied.

Chuckling, Subcon's prince floated back into the forest, the baker following alongside him.

“ **I believe a small celebration is in order! Say, is there any bacon left?”**

* * *

With the knowledge that Shady had access to sorcerers that could potentially trap ghosts, any plans to go to the desert and speak with the usurper were brought to a screeching halt. Subcon's ruler didn't _dare_ risk any of the villagers being captured by the magicians by bringing them along, but he also couldn't leave them alone, in case the Cabinet Minister's forces attempted a sneak attack while the specter was away, or- even _worse-_ in case _Vanessa_ left the manor.

So, he came up with a new plan.

The prince's plan was relatively simple, but _extremely_ effective in ensuring that no one else would attempt to harm any of Subcon's ghosts.

Whenever soldiers entered the forest, the adults would hurry the children off to the well. Aureola and Joseph would stay with the masked spirits to keep an eye on them, while the other villagers would return to Subcon Village to group up with the prince and frighten the soldiers away.

  
  


Their new routine was _slightly unusual,_ if they were being honest.

  
  


The prince had taken the role of the “villain”- not _too_ different from what he had been doing before, but _this_ time, it had a new twist.

The villagers were his “prisoners”, trying to warn the soldiers to flee before it was too late.

The whole charade was... a **lot** more effective than he thought it would be.

With the knowledge that the ghostly prince could _steal people's souls,_ most soldiers that went into the forest needed to only _see_ the fanged spook to turn heel and run away. The others would take a swipe or two at the spectral ruler, only to find their attacks _didn't hurt him._

Then they, too, would turn tail and flee from his sight.

  
  


_Scaring away all of the Cabinet Minister's forces was_ **extremely** _ **satisfying.**_

  
  


However, he didn't use the newfound ability he had _just_ to scare off soldiers.

* * *

Once he had recovered from the shock of realizing he could take souls out of people's bodies, he flew over to the edge of the swamp.

  
  


_One soul below him._

  
  


He had _constantly_ sensed something in the swamp, after the soldier had drowned in it. Baffled, the prince floated over the murky depths, wondering what in the _world_ he was sensing.

Now, he knew what it was that he felt in the swamp's mud.

  
  


_The soul of the soldier he had tried to save._

  
  


_He still recalled the fear in the soldier's eyes as they slipped beneath the surface of the mud._

  
  


He didn't _deserve_ that kind of fate; to be forever lost to the murky swamp.

  
  


It took an _intense_ amount of focus for the maned ghost to lift the body from the mud. When it finally resurfaced, the phantom of the forest raised the limp corpse up into the air telekinetically, and carefully floated it over to solid ground.

The body was in a bad state, despite the armor. It was-

He inhaled deeply, forcing his focus away from the dead soldier's state and to the soul that seemed stuck in their body.

He hadn't pulled someone's soul out of their body since he first discovered _he had the power to do so._

  
  


_Concentrate..._

  
  


Lightning flashed overhead, striking the body rapidly, until _something_ emerged from the corpse and flew straight to the ghost's clawed hand.

He grabbed it; more gently, this time around.

  
  


_A purple tail and body, eyes peering up at him, a face he hadn't been able to see underneath the helmet..._

  
  


The ghost exhaled.

“ **I am _so sorry_ for what happened to you,”** the prince apologized to the soul in his hand, **“I was too weak from battle to get to you in time; you did _not_ deserve the fate you were dealt.”**

Could the soul even understand him, in this state? He wasn't sure.

Nonetheless, he left the soul floating there as he snapped his fingers, a shovel appearing in his hand.

He moved to the soldier's gravestone and began digging.

  
  


About thirty minutes had passed by, when he was done burying their body. All the prince could do was float in front of the grave in absolute silence, the soldier's soul next to him.

“ **I apologize for the less-than-glamorous headstone,”** the maned ghost soon said, eyes gazing over the plain stone with “R.I.P.” written upon it. **“I... do not know your name; it did not feel right to carve 'Soldier' on it, so I hope you can understand...”**

  
  


The soul did something the ghost hadn't expected.

  
  


They moved over to their grave, floating around the headstone like they were inspecting it. After a few revolutions around the marker, they floated back to the spectral ruler, facing him directly.

Naturally, the prince didn't have a clue what the _heck_ the soldier's soul was doing. At least, not until he sensed some kind of response.

  
  


_He heard a name._

  
  


Just like that, the soul vanished in front of him. To where, the specter had _no idea._ Nonetheless, the ghost's fanged mouth turned upwards into a slight, somber smile as he sent the shovel away, and floated back to the village to have Gwendolyn help carve the name into the headstone.

* * *

The soldiers that came to the forest grew less and less, until weeks- and soon, _months-_ went by without anyone new entering the forest.

Not only was their new routine working _exceptionally_ well, but it seemed to have gotten the point across to Shady's troops that going into Subcon Forest was foolhardy, downright dangerous, and **would not end well for the desert soldiers.**

  
  


Subcon's noble was glad; _he never wanted to see_ **Shady** _or his_ **soldiers** _**ever again.**_

  
  


Granted, the occasional group of soldiers would dare to enter the forest, but they soon fled back to the desert once they laid eyes on Subcon's spectral ruler.

In between invasions from soldiers, Selene and Clarissa took some time to build lookout points up in the trees, just for everyone to use when they were looking out for Shady's troops. _Sometimes_ the villagers had to chase out a spider or two when they were on patrol, but aside from that, the new watchtowers proved to be very useful and rather safe.

Soldiers could still come at any moment, after all- _anyone_ could, for that matter. Along with that, the fact that the prince went to bed at night meant someone needed to be up to keep an eye out for strangers. Which meant the patrols they all had been keeping since their whole ordeal began would need to be more frequent.

  
  


In the meantime, however, Subcon's ghostly inhabitants took their time enjoying the peace.

  
  


With the trees now healthy enough to produce saplings, Julio didn't waste time planting new trees around the village.

This news also meant Clarissa would soon be able to get back into being a lumberjack; something that she _didn't_ hide her excitement about.

Meanwhile, Selene was eager to eventually get more lumber to build with! Until then, she set about on a different project...

  
  


The prince had been floating through the village when he saw the carpenter in front of one of the tree-stump home's door. His curiosity piqued as he floated over, watching her dip a small paintbrush into some paint and illustrate a design on the top of the wooden door.

“ **Selene, what are you doing?”** the specter inquired, a figurative eyebrow raised.

Selene glanced up at the ruler and grinned. “Hey, Your Highness!” she greeted, “I found some paint lying around, and thought it'd be nice to touch up the doors a bit.”

The design in question appeared to be one of the masks the children wore, with some embellishments.

**“** **'Touch-up?'”** inquired the specter, an amused smile on his face.

Chuckling slightly, the carpenter rubbed the back of her hand. “Okay, I _might_ have wanted to make the village a _tiny_ bit spookier,” she admitted. “You know, in case any soldiers managed to sneak in, this far.”

The maned ghost hummed in thought, for a moment.

“ **Not a bad idea, Selene,”** he mused, **“Do you have another brush?”**

Without missing a beat, the carpenter produced another brush and tossed it to the prince, who caught it with relative ease.

As he dipped the brush into a nearby can of paint, he glanced over at Selene as he realized something.

**"Selene, I did not know you were a painter."**

Selene paused at that, a sheepish smile suddenly popping up on her face as she rubbed the back of her head, again. "O-Oh, I'm not!" she was quick to explain, "I just thought it'd be nice to add a little decoration to the village, that's all!"

A hum escaped the phantom as he stared at the carpenter with a raised eyebrow. Her response to what he said was a bit... odd...

He shook his head, disregarding her unusual reply as he focused back to the task at hand. **"If you say so. Now, what are we painting?"**

  
  


Ten minutes later, they had made decent progress with painting the doors of the villager's homes.

“You know, Your Highness,” Selene began, adding some small details to the design on another door, “you've been a lot more relaxed, than you usually are.”

“ **Have I?”** the phantom replied, figurative brow furrowed as he dipped his brush into the paint can on top of the tree-stump home whose door he was currently painting.

Nodding, the carpenter glanced over at the maned ghost. “Well, you've started speaking more like how you do when you're scaring soldiers,” she pointed out to him. “And you've started calling the children 'kids' more. You just seem... _lighter,_ somehow.”

A small chuckle escaped the taller ghost as he slowly painted the door he was in front of. **“Well, I certainly do _feel_ a bit more cheerful, these days,” **he agreed, **“We have fought against Shady's soldiers for so _long,_ and I was _constantly_ worrying about so many things: the refugees, all of the villagers, the soldiers, **_**her-”**_

He shook his head, focusing back on where his brushstrokes were going. **“After _all_ of that, I feel like maybe I can relax, you know? I mean-”**

The maned ghost motioned to the village around them.

“ **\- everyone has been working _so hard,_ and they have all figured out how to take care of the village, even _without_ my input!” **he sighed, feeling somewhat content. **“I thought that maybe... just _maybe...”_**

All of a sudden, he paused as he glanced at the painted mask on the wood of the door.

“ **... I could relax in _some_ regards,” **he finished, completing the mask design with a swift, smooth stroke.

“Okay, but _you?_ Calling the children 'kids' outside of when you're playing the villain in their games?” Selene commented, “Not to mention _you_ using _contractions?_ _Unheard of!”_

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he placed the brush in the paint can.

“ **Well, I'll still speak properly when _other royalty_ is around,” **he replied, before his fanged grin wavered slightly. **“Why? Is it too jarring? Unfitting?”**

“Nah.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I think it's good for you. You _need_ some time to relax. Having to keep up the proper, formal language all the time isn't good for you, let alone _anyone._ You need time to _be yourself.”_

… The thought made him frown, slightly.

“ **For so long, I had done my best to speak properly, because that is what** _ **she**_ **wanted,”** he murmured, his hands clasping together in his spectral lap.

“Forget about that _witch!”_ Selene suddenly exclaimed.

The prince gasped, eyes widening in surprise. _**“Selene!”**_

“No, _seriously,_ forget about her!” she insisted. “She locked you up in a cellar _and left you there to die,_ and she's done a _whole lot_ of other things to you! You shouldn't keep acting a certain way just because _she_ wanted you to!”

  
  


This was _startling;_ he had _never_ seen Selene this _mad,_ before.

  
  


“You should be someone _you_ want to be,” the carpenter continued, pointing a spectral finger at the monarch. “You should speak the way _you_ want to, not the way _she_ wanted you to. So take this chance and become the person you want to be!”

“ **The person I want to be...”** he mumbled, before shaking his head. **“I feel like I am _already_ the person I want to be. Not because of _her,_ but because _I_ want to be like this.”**

“Well, then figure out how you want to _speak,”_ insisted the carpenter.

  
  


_How **he** wanted to speak..._

  
  


After a long pause to think, the ghost smiled slightly. **“I think I'll speak a little less formally, from now on,”** the ghostly prince decided.

Selene grinned a bit mischievously. “What do you say to _her_ trying to get you to speak the way _she_ wanted you to?”

He hesitated. **“Selene, I don't think that's-”**

“Come on; say it. You _know_ you want to.”

  
  


… He quickly sensed around to see if the children were nearby.

  
  


_Some were nearby; the rest were near his tree home._

  
  


Taking a deep breath he didn't need, anymore, the prince gathered his nerve.

_“ **She's a witch,”**_ he mumbled, both _shocked_ that he actually said it and _proud_ to have done so.

“Really?” The carpenter crossed her arms. _“That_ quiet?”

“ **There are** _ **children**_ **nearby,”** he explained, **“I may be relaxing a bit, but I** _ **still**_ **need to set a good example for the kids.”**

Sighing, she shrugged. “Fair enough; come on, there's only a few more doors-”

Suddenly, she froze as she stared at something above him. Confused, the ghost turned and looked up-

The paint can fell, splashing white paint _all over_ the royal of the forest. The now-empty receptacle bounced off of his head and tumbled to the ground, rolling slowly to a stop near Selene.

He slowly opened his eyes, grateful that he could no longer feel pain from anything getting in them, as he processed what happened.

Up above him was little Chris, giggling mischievously as they hid out on the stump house's roof.

Selene frowned, brow furrowing slightly as she crossed her arms. _“Chris.”_

Chris stopped laughing, peering over the roof of the house at the not-so-amused carpenter.

The prince, on the other hand, had a completely different response to the prank. His eyes narrowed and his grin shifted into a smirk, as he scooped up some paint with a hand and tossed it into the masked spirit's face.

Naturally, the child was startled, staring down at the paint-covered monarch in utter surprise. Selene raised her figurative eyebrows, surprised that the prince would do that.

  
  


“ **Your move,** _ **kiddo,”**_ the specter stated, soon mimicking Selene's arm-crossing in a more cheerful way.

Perking up immediately, Chris flew down to the ground and _splashed_ into the paint, coating themselves, the prince, and Selene. The latter two yelled as paint landed on them, which soon attracted the attention of some of the other children. Even the little ones by the tree home heard the uproar, and flew over to investigate.

  
  


In a matter of minutes, the whole situation devolved into an all-out paint frenzy that left everyone absolutely _coated_ with paint, along with some of the doors Selene and the prince had _just_ finished painting.

Though they would need to redo the designs on the doors, the prince of Subcon Forest didn't regret the wonderful, joyful time he had throwing paint at the children.

Even after they all got a scolding from Ophelia.

  
  


It was _worth it._

* * *

“ **\- which is marked by those three stars, right there.”**

  
  


It was the next night. The shadowy specter of Subcon Forest had taken the children up to the top of his tree home to go stargazing. Snapping his old telescope to his side, the prince took a moment to dust it off, before adjusting it to make the stars above more clear through the lens.

Using his old telescope after all of these years felt _fantastic!_ He couldn't _wait_ to let to children take a look at the sky!

“ **Here, take a look!”**

The children let out collective “oooh”s as the specter pointed out a constellation, each one lining up to peer through the eyepiece.

A huge grin was apparent on the royal's face as he watched the children all examine the cosmos, an _indescribable_ joy welling up in his being. Teaching the children about the stars was a _wonderful_ feeling; it was almost like he was...

  
  


_… a father..._

Yes, he _certainly_ loved these kids, but he didn't know if they would want _another_ father. After all, their parents had all been...

  
  


A sigh escaped him.

  
  


Though it had been years since the incident with _her,_ it was too soon for them to even _consider_ having another person to call “Father”. It didn't feel _right_ for him to try and take on that role, at this time. As much as the title sounded nice to him, he would wait until they were ready to give him the _honor_ of that name.

  
  


He shook his head slightly, focusing back on the stars overhead. Looking over to Anthony- who was currently using the telescope, the specter gently pat the child's head to get his attention.

“ **Anthony, turn the telescope that way,”** the prince instructed, pointing a talon-like finger at a group of stars. **“I'll show you kids one of my** _ **favorite**_ **constellations!”**

  
  


_Your Highness?_

  
  


The maned ghost paused, turning to one of the other children. **“Yes, Julia?”** he inquired, raising a questioning, figurative eyebrow.

All of the other children turned to look at Julia, who was staring up at the forest's ruler.

  
  


_Why are you talking like that?_

  
  


Confusion spread across his glowing face. **“What do you mean?”**

  
  


_You're saying 'kid' a lot more!_

  
  


Anthony soon perked up, taking notice of the conversation.

  
  


_Yeah! You only say kid when you're playing a bad guy!_

  
  


Not even a second later, Logan soon joined in with his own observations.

  
  


_You're also using contractions more._

  
  


All of a sudden, the whole group of masked spirits were voicing their questions and thoughts.

  
  


_He didn't use contractions before!_

  
  


_Why are you saying “kid” a lot?_

  
  


_Are you not feeling well?_

  
  


_Does this mean you're a villain, now!?_

  
  


“ **Whoa, whoa, settle down, children!”** the ghost exclaimed, motioning with his hands for the little ones to calm down. **“I am _perfectly fine,_ and this does _not_ mean that I'm a villain.”**

  
  


The children all locked their sights on the prince, utterly confused.

Finally, Anthony asked the question they were all thinking at the same time.

  
  


_Then why are you talking differently, now?_

  
  


… Ah, this might be a bit difficult explain.

  
  


Sitting down on a leafy branch, the forest's phantom sighed as he addressed the children's concerns.

“ **Well, kids,”** he began, **“it's a _bit_ hard to explain, but I'll do my best.”**

He inhaled deeply, the eyes of all of Subcon's children upon him.

“ **You see, the way I used to talk was...”**

Trailing off, the ghost furrowed his figurative brow and pondered _hard_ on what to say.

“ **The way I used to talk was the way** _ **someone else**_ **wanted me to talk,”** was what he settled on. **“Someone who... who hurt me, some years ago.”**

Rising up in alarm, the children of Subcon Forest all gasped in unison.

  
  


_But who would hurt you?_

  
  


_You're really nice!_

  
  


_I'll beat them up!_

  
  


Once more, the prince had to instruct the children to calm down as they all expressed their outrage.

“ **Easy now, children! I am _fine_ now, I assure you,”** he reassured the masked spirits. **“There will be _no_ need for violence, either.”**

The prince glanced in Francisca's direction as he spoke, smiling kindly as the child lowered her head in disappointment.

Julia tilted her own masked head in confusion.

  
  


_But why does that mean you can't talk like you used to?_

  
  


Immediately, all of the children looked back to the prince for his response.

Humming, the ghost stroked his mane as he thought about how to help the children understand his decision.

  
  


How to put it in words...

  
  


Gazing at the children, the inky ghost's eyes fell fell upon Alexis' little stuffed fox toy, Feni.

A figurative light bulb flicked on above his head.

  
  


_**That's it!** _

  
  


“ **Well, imagine if someone you did _not_ like told you you could _never_ say certain words,”** he told them, **“like the word 'fox', for example.”**

He could feel the realization hit Alexis as she clutched Feni closer to her serpentine body.

Turning to Denise, he soon continued speaking.

“ **Or the word 'sword'.”**

Denise let out a silent, offended gasp.

Soon, the ghost directed his attention to Anthony.

“ **Or 'adventure'-”**

If Anthony didn't have a mask for a face, the prince was _certain_ the child would be frowning.

“ **\- or even the word 'joke'.”**

That caught Chris' attention, who huffed indignantly.

The children all began murmuring to each other, all of them _immediately_ understanding what their ruler was trying to say.

Nodding to himself, the maned phantom waited for the children to stop talking before he continued speaking.

“ **Would you want to speak like that?”**

Gradually, a slight smile spread across his face as the children all collectively answered with one loud _“No!”_

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly. **“Do you understand why I'm speaking so differently, now?”**

  
  


_Yes!_

  
  


Phew, that was a relief!

  
  


“ **Excellent!”** exclaimed the prince, clasping his clawed hands together. **“Now, let me see if I can find that constellation...”**

As the specter leaned down to adjust the telescope, little Penelope lifted their head up, a question popping into their mind.

  
  


_Your Highness...?_

  
  


Blinking, Subcon's prince, turned his head to glance at the child. **“Yes, Penelope?”** he asked, curiosity piqued.

Penelope fidgeted slightly, before they finally made eye contact with the ruler.

  
  


_If you didn't want to speak how they wanted you to, why did you?_

  
  


His smile wavered at that question. A question coming from Penelope was _rare_ ; as much as he _didn't_ want to answer it, he didn't want Penelope to _feel bad_ for asking it.

“ **Because... Because I cared about them,”** he quietly answered, moving away from the telescope to sit up straight. **“I _thought_ they were my friend, so I did what they wanted me to do to make them happy.”**

Casting his eyes skywards, he went into a state of deep contemplation.

“ **It took me... a _long_ time to realize they were **_**not**_ **my friend,”** he revealed, **“and by the time I did, talking like I used to became a habit. But now...”**

Sighing, the ghost's eyes fell back to the children. **“I don't want to speak like that, anymore. I don't want** _ **them**_ **controlling the way I speak.** _ **I**_ **want to have control over what I say.”**

  
  


Silence fell over them all.

  
  


The prince rubbed at his wrists, his eyes closing as he attempted to gather the thoughts of _her_ going through his mind.

One by one, the children all glanced at one another, each one understanding what the prince meant.

It was Susan who moved first, floating over to the ruler of the forest to nuzzle into his mane.

The gesture pulled him out of his thoughts as he glanced down at the child. **“Susan?”**

  
  


_I'm sorry they made you talk like that..._

  
  


Speechless, the inky phantom froze as he thought of what to say.

Soon, Anthony floated up and darted over to the prince, wrapping his tail around the taller ghost's neck.

  
  


_You shouldn't have to talk in a way you don't want to!_

  
  


“ **A-Anthony...”** the noble stuttered.

  
  


Denise and Penelope glanced at each other and nodded silently, both hurrying over to join in hugging the ruler.

  
  


_You can say 'kid' all you want!_

  
  


_Y-Yeah...!_

  
  


In seconds, the rest of the children flew over to the monarch's side, wrapping their tails around him and nuzzling into him to give the prince the best hugs they could.

  
  


_I don't mind you using contractions._

  
  


_You can talk any way you want!_

  
  


_But um... please don't use bad words?_

  
  


_I like how you talk, now! You're a lot happier!_

  
  


_I'll beat up anyone who tells you not to talk how you want to!_

  
  


More and more, the children of Subcon Forest voice their contentment with the prince's decision to change how he spoke.

Subcon's prince stared down at the children, his fanged mouth thin as he gathered up his thoughts.

  
  


_These children..._

They were so _willing_ to accept his new way of speaking... Heck, they _wanted him to be happy!_

  
  


A wellspring of joy bubbled up in his chest as a huge, fanged smile stretched clear across his face.

  
  


He felt like he was about to _burst_ with happiness!

**He loved these children so, _so_ much...!**

… Oh, he was getting misty-eyed.

  
  


Blinking back his tears, the ghost gently embraced the children that had entangled themselves around him in a _big_ group hug.

“ **Thanks, kids,”** he murmured, unable to contain his joy. **“You have no _idea_ how much this means to me...”**

  
  


_He felt_ **so lucky** _to have such **wonderful** kids._

  
  


They stayed like that for a good minute or two. Admittedly, the prince didn't want to let _any_ of them go from the hug; he loved them all _so much, it was like they were **his children!**_

But eventually- and very reluctantly- the ruler of Subcon Forest released the children, his glowing smile still plain across his inky face as the masked spirits untangled themselves from him and moved back to where they had been sitting.

Carefully, the ghostly prince leaned back over the telescope.

“ **Now, let's see where that constellation went,”** he mumbled, closing one yellow eyes and peering through the eyepiece with the other. After adjusting the device for several seconds, the specter let out a triumphant **“Aha!”** as he straightened himself up.

“ **Take a look, kids! Like I mentioned before, this one is my favorite!”**

* * *

_Deep in the desert, a storm was brewing._

  
  


The soldiers of the desert patrolled the empty villages strewn about the sandy dunes, the former residents _long_ gone since they all escaped to Subcon Forest. The clear nighttime skies sparkled with countless stars, making the sand glitter and gleam as the starlight shined upon it, streaking the dunes and creating rivers of diamonds that moved at every angle wherever the soldiers turned.

In the throne room of the former desert prince's abode, Cabinet Minister Shady sat upon his stolen throne. Two-fingered hands clutched the armrests of the royal seat, one of which was tapping the edge of one armrest with a single digit. The tyrant's glowing green eyes stared ahead through his spectacles, his hood hiding his _infuriated_ glare as he brooded over his current predicament.

Years of planning, plotting, gathering people to assist him...

Years of silent manipulation of the laws of the land for his own gain, getting resources for his band of fellow thieves so they could take over the desert kingdom, waiting for that foolish king to croak so he could usurp the throne from that _pitiful fool_ of a prince!

  
  


Years of strategy, _all gone down the drain_ because of a forest full of _ghosts_ and their _prince-!_

  
  


Clenching a fist, the tyrant slammed it down onto the armrest. He soon stood up, pacing furiously across the floor of the throne room.

First that foolish prince _escaped,_ thanks to those _pathetic_ citizens that fought against his carefully orchestrated coup d'etat, then what citizens that he managed to capture as _hostages_ escaped, and now-

Now the sorcerers he had hired to go into the forest and capture a few _sniveling brats_ for bartering chips downright _refused_ to go anywhere near the place! Even worse, his own _soldiers_ wouldn't go in there, anymore! _All because of that ghostly prince!_

_Worst_ of all, apparently, **he could steal souls!**

Shady _highly doubted_ that the prince of Subcon went _mad_ after discovering that ability, despite what his soldiers had reported. No, the ghostly prince was just very, _very_ clever. It was more than likely a ruse to keep soldiers from going near the place.

They must be buying time for an attack on him. Heck, the desert's prince and the other citizens were probably formulating a plan with those _ghosts_ and their _ruler;_ they might be planning to storm the desert and take back the kingdom...

Whipping his head around, the Cabinet Minister stormed over to a table on one side of the room, hastily grabbing a few pieces of correspondence to look over.

He had been _hoping_ that sending some of his forces to intercept messages for Subcon Forest would have been enough. Just a rag-tag group of soldiers disguised as bandits allowed the tyrant to keep the other countries of the world from learning about the coup, and to prevent that **nuisance** of a ghostly prince from telling other rulers what was going on. Shady had been so _careful;_ he even made sure the soldiers attacked some couriers that were delivering messages to the _desert prince,_ so no one would be suspicious!

The usurper made sure some couriers got through, but _only to him._ It wasn't hard to lie to the messengers; all he had to say was that the prince had been under the weather with some kind of illness, and that the ruler was _so insistent_ on not letting anyone else get sick, that he confined himself to his room and _refused_ to come out. Then, the Cabinet Minister played dumb about the raiders stealing letters, but swore that he would make _sure_ checkpoints were set up to, be certain that couriers got through safely.

When it came to Subcon Forest, he would mention that he _hadn't_ heard from them, but that he would send his own messengers out to the forest to deliver their letters, and inform future couriers of any replies.

But soon, Shady began to have suspicions about couriers making it to Subcon Forest.

No letters meant for that ghost of a prince came to him, after a while, and there were only inquiries from other rulers about if the kingdom of Subcon ever responded to the letters they had entrusted to the Cabinet Minister. Oh, how he had to lie and say they _hadn't_ responded, _feign concern_ about the forest, and tell the courier that came to him about how he would send soldiers over to Subcon to ensure _everything_ was okay. In fact, Shady had been **so kind** to make sure that the only available courier from the other countries would be escorted in and out of the desert by his soldiers.

“It is for the safety of the royal messengers!” the Cabinet Minister had said. “After all, there are still _raiders_ loose in the desert!”

Of course, this policy was not meant for the courier's _safety;_ it was meant to make sure that they weren't _sneaking letters to Subcon Forest._

But now, he had no more excuses; _he couldn't use the raiders to steal letters meant for Subcon Forest, anymore._ Now that he had _ensured_ that letters would be sent and received from the only courier left _safely,_ the other countries wanted to know what the current state of the kingdom of Subcon was.

Shady _glared_ at the letters in his hands; the most recent pieces of correspondence from the other countries of the world.

  
  


They wanted to know about the health of the desert prince, the state of Subcon Forest, why the forest's prince _still_ hadn't responded to their letters, yet...

  
  


Frustrated beyond belief, Shady tossed the letters into the air, growling as he gripped his hooded head.

  
  


**This was all the fault of Subcon's prince! _Why couldn't he have just stayed in that forsaken forest!?_**

  
  


The Cabinet Minister had searched high and low for _anything_ that could take care of the ghost; all of the tomes he had read gave him little information about what could be done! The best that _could_ be done was a barrier to keep the ghost from _teleporting_ straight to his soldiers, but it wouldn't keep the specter from **flying** straight to them!

  
  


**If only something could be done about that _accursed prince!_**

  
  


_The **only** good that ghost ever did was having the supply shipments to the forest delayed because of the queen-_

  
  


Shady paused in his pacing, his hands lowering from his head.

  
  


_The queen..._

  
  


**_She must be the one that killed the prince._** Not only that, but she was **_still alive-_** and causing trouble for Subcon, considering the forest's prince had supplies _delayed_ because of her.

If that was the case, then maybe...

  
  


_Maybe she could help him take care of that meddlesome prince, once and for all!_

  
  


First, he'd need to figure out how to get to the queen _without_ Subcon's prince noticing him...

If he sent _all_ of his forces over to Subcon... yes, that should do it...!

  
  


Rushing off to another room, Shady hurried over to a bookshelf and pulled down an atlas of Subcon Forest. It was _clearly_ dated, having been published before the entire land shifted into its ghastly state, but it would still have accurate maps on a few specific locations, if he could just find it...

Flipping frantically through the pages, the Cabinet Minister stopped right on a map leading directly to the manor of one of the royal families of the forest.

_If his face could be seen, a nefarious, **malicious** grin would have been witnessed spreading across it._

Now, all he needed was to figure out a way to _get_ to the manor while those **wretched ghosts** were distracted with his troops.

He couldn't just wait outside; they could have guards in the area that would spot him easily! No, he would need a way to travel _quickly_ through the desert to the manor, once the guards had the forest prince and his people distracted. But how...

  
  


The sound of metal footsteps soon broke the silence of the room as three soldiers approached the door.

  
  


“Sir,” the soldier at the front said, snapping Shady out of his rumination. “We have apprehended an outsider that came into the village.”

“An outsider?” the Cabinet Minister mused, turning around to the guards. “Well, let me see them!”

The guard at the front moved to the right, revealing a man held tightly by the two guards on either side of him.

The uninvited guest in question was a rather _average_ human, aside from his clothing. A large, triangular nose, thick eyebrows, blue eyes, mustache, goatee, sideburns, brown hair that poked a bit out of his cap-

The Cabinet Minister paused, squinting through his spectacles as he slowed down to examine the man further.

The man had some kind of brown cap on his head, with some kind of gold-rimmed goggles around it. He wore a red vest with six gold buttons on it, which was over a white shirt, and gray pants with light brown boots. On his hands were thick brown gloves that went past his wrists. What was _really_ odd about this man, however, was the amount of belt straps he had on. One was slung over his shoulder, and was attached to some kind of pouch. One was around his waist, and four more were on his legs, the upper belts sporting their own pouches.

  
  


Curious. _Very curious._

  
  


“Who are you?” Shady asked in a very snappy tone.

The man flinched, unable to back up too much due to the armored hands clutching his arms. “M-My name is Thor!” he stammered.

“What are you doing in my kingdom?” hissed the usurper.

“I-I came here for inspiration!” Thor nervously exclaimed. “I'm from a- a small island in the ocean. I had a few inventions on my mind that I wanted to build, but I couldn't figure out how to get them working properly, so I thought a change of scenery would-”

The tyrant cared not for the man's babbling, but one word _did_ catch the usurper's attention. _“Inventions?”_ Shady asked, curiosity rising. “What _kind_ of inventions?”

The inventor paused, clearing his throat before he spoke. “All sorts!” was his reply, before he began listing off all that he had made. “Floating hookshot points, cannons, and I have some new ideas for means of transport; the one I used got me across the ocean, but I'm having trouble getting the other one to work in water-”

“Transport? Like some kind of boat?” the tyrant asked, interrupting Thor's verbal train of thought.

Surprised by the interruption, the inventor snapped back to attention. “Oh, not exactly!” Thor replied. “More like a... Well, it is more like a kind of-”

He stopped suddenly, finding it hard to explain. “May I show you the blueprints?” the inventor asked, “I feel like that would help me better explain my invention.”

Humming slightly, Shady motioned to the guards.

The ones holding Thor released his arms. Sighing in relief, the inventor produced some blueprints from his pouch and laid them upon a table. The Cabinet Minister followed him, inspecting the unusual means of transportation.

“What in the _world_ is that thing attached to?” the usurper asked, pointing at the odd choice in wheels.

“Oh, those are scoops!” explained Thor, motioning to the unusual wheels. “They're to help move the vehicle in water! But I've been having problems with getting it to _work_ in water...”

  
  


As he gazed down at the scoop-like wheels, the Cabinet Minister suddenly had a thought.

  
  


“How effective would this invention of yours be on _sand?”_ Shady inquired.

Thor paused briefly, mulling over the question. All of a sudden, he laughed. “That's it! _Sand;_ this vehicle would be much more effective on _sand!”_ he cried, “I would have to make a few tweaks to the design, but I could get it to _work!”_

All of a sudden, the gears in Shady's brain spun faster than ever. If he could get this inventor to help him with these machines, they could _potentially_ take him straight to the manor that Subcon's queen was at!

He would just have to play his cards right with this curious man; after all, the inventor _was_ captured by the soldiers...

Instantly, the Cabinet Minister's demeanor changed as he held his hidden forehead. “Oh, I _do_ apologize for being so short,” he quickly said to the inventor, “it's just that things around here have taken _a turn for the worst...”_

Thor's attention was stolen from his invention as he turned to Shady. “Turn for the worst? What do you mean?”

Turning away, the usurper clenched his fists. “Our beloved prince and many villagers were _kidnapped!”_ he lamented, “by the prince of Subcon and his people. No matter how we try to reason or force our way through to save them, those _wretched_ people of Subcon Forest keep forcing us back out!”

“But that's horrible!” Thor cried, completely shocked by the news. “Can't the other countries do something to help you!?”

Grin hidden, the Cabinet Minister shook his head and moved away from the table. “I can't risk contacting the other countries,” he soon explained, “if I tell any of the other rulers, Subcon's prince might react _violently_ towards my fellow citizens, and my _prince...!”_

Thor frowned, brow furrowing as he took in what Shady said. “Something _must_ be done!”

Nodding slightly, Shady faked a hidden frown and turned back around to the inventor. “There is _one_ thing,” he somberly said, moving back to the table and pulling over the atlas of Subcon Forest. “I have reason to believe that Subcon's queen is trapped in her manor. If we can get her free, she will be able to help us stop Subcon's prince and save my people, and my prince.”

Glancing over the atlas, Thor frowned as he thought long and hard. “Is there _anything_ I can do to help?” the inventor inquired, “I have many ideas for inventions that could aid in your efforts!”

Pretending to think, the Cabinet Minister hummed and tapped his hidden chin. “Well, do you think that 'vehicle' you mentioned could make it from this village to the queen's manor?” he asked the inventor.

Grinning slightly, Thor nodded determinedly. _“Definitely!”_

  
  


**_Hook, line, and sinker._ **

  
  


Shady beamed, taking the inventor's hand and shaking it quickly. “Thor, you _wonderful_ inventor,” he happily said, “this is the beginning of a new friendship!”

Quick as a wink, the Cabinet Minister turned back to the blueprints and atlas. “Now, let me tell you about the plan we have in mind...”

  
  


_A storm was brewing deep in the desert;_ **one that would turn Subcon Forest** _**on its head.** _


	17. Names and Paintings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making a name for yourself is hard, but family makes the task a bit easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!

The forest of Subcon was calm and quiet. The statues all around were still as could be, the spiders were keeping to the trees, and all was well...

  
  


“- and that's the escapement train, right there. Keep going, you're doing- _WHOA!”_

A loud **crash** echoed through the ruins, followed by a wheel rolling across the ground. It soon came to a stop as it ran into a tree and fell on its side.

“... Okay, there goes the center wheel...”

Joseph stood up straight, having ducked to avoid the clock piece that flew over his head. “Well, that wasn't bad for a first attempt,” he said, trying his best to be as kind as possible.

The prince of Subcon Forest blinked slightly in surprise, peering inside of the bonnet of the clock he had been trying to assemble. A few seconds of watching the pieces of the timepiece tumble out prompted only one response from the specter:

**“... I don't think it was particularly** _**good** _ **for a first attempt, either.”**

Shaking his head, the former stable hand floated over to the maned ghost. “Believe me, it was a good try!” he said, doing his best to smile- and failing to hide the nervousness behind it.

Subcon's ruler took one look at the clockmaker and sheepishly chuckled. **“You can say that I'm terrible,”** the inky phantom told him. **“I don't mind.”**

“It's not that you're _terrible,”_ Joseph insisted, “you just made a mistake _any_ new clockmaker would. Trust me!”

The specter raised a figurative eyebrow and crossed his noodle-like arms. **“Joseph, I appreciate your kindness,”** he stated, **“but you are a** _ **terrible**_ **liar.”**

Joseph sighed, his shoulders slouching as he hung his head. “I just don't want to be mean, okay?” he quietly confessed.

Chuckling slightly, the maned ghost pat the former stable hand's shoulder. **“I understand. Thank you,”** the phantom gratefully said, a kind, fanged smile crossing his face. **“Now, show me how to put this thing together, again.”**

With a beckoning motion, the center wheel flew up through the air and back into the prince's clawed hand. His fanged smile gentle, the ruler handed the clock piece back to the clockmaker. Joseph smiled back, turning to the mechanisms underneath the clock's bonnet as he cleaned everything out.

“Say, have you thought of a name, yet?” he suddenly asked.

 **“A name?”** The prince blinked a few times in confusion.

“Yeah, for yourself,” the former stable hand replied, getting to work with carefully putting the clock's mechanism back together. “We can't keep calling you... _you know..._ in case _she...”_

Realization spread across the maned ghost's glowing face. **“Oh, right...”** he murmured, rubbing the back of his head. **“Nothing has really come to mind, you know? I would rather not use my old name, and...”**

Watching Joseph reassemble the clock, the prince clasped his hands in his lap as he searched for the right words.

**“Well, I want something** _ **scary,**_ **you know?”** he soon continued, **“Something that will strike** _ **fear**_ **into those soldiers, if they ever come back around.”**

A small hum came from Joseph as he quickly put the internal components of the clock back together. “Give it _time-”_

**"Ha!"** the inky ghost laughed.

“- and you'll find something that'll work.”

Almost like magic, the last piece of the clock fit in perfectly. As Joseph started up the clock, the timepiece ticked off the time smoothly and without problems.

Subcon's ghostly noble couldn't help but marvel at how _easily_ the former stable hand put the internal components of the clock together; his speed was _remarkable!  
_

  
  


**“... You know, you have** ** _impeccable_ timing,”**the prince soon remarked, a slow grin growing on his face.

  
  


Joseph snorted at that, laughing as he rubbed at his eyes. “I'm rubbing off on you, aren't I?” he noticed. “First you start saying 'kiddo' like I do, and now my puns!”

**“Hey, it just feels right, to me!”** the prince replied, nudging the clock maker slightly with an elbow.

At that, the former stable hand held a hand against his chest. “All I can say is, I-”

He bowed deeply.

“- am _honored_ that you would copy my puns, and _one_ word I say.”

Subcon's royal held his forehead with a hand, laughing slightly at how ridiculous Joseph looked. **“All right, you can stop bowing, now!”** he chortled.

His laughter starting up again, Joseph leaned over and held his nonexistent knee for a moment as he steadied himself, and stood up straight.

“Okay, you ready to give this another go?” he asked, motioning to the completed clock.

Wiping a tear from his eye, the ghostly noble nodded and let out an amused sigh. **“I think I'm willing to give it another try!”**

Grinning, the clockmaker stopped the clock and slowly took the mechanism apart. “All right, let's get started!”

Furrowing his figurative brow in concentration, the specter of Subcon got to work with assembling the mechanism of the clock for the second time. Joseph kept a close eye on the prince's progress, pointing out different parts and their names as the clock was slowly pieced together.

After some time of fiddling with the pieces, the taller ghost moved away from the now-completed mechanism.

**“Hey, I think I got it!”**

Joseph rubbed his hands together. “All right, now to test it...”

Both of the ghosts held their non-existent breaths as the former stable hand carefully started the clock...

… They soon heard a rhythmic ticking sound as the clock's hands began moving.

  
  


Subcon's ruler beamed with pride. **“Well, at least now I know how to fix the grandfather clock!”** he laughed.

It was Joseph's turn to nudge the noble with his elbow. “Hey, I'll still be around to fix it!” the clockmaker said in a jokingly indignant tone. “Come on, let's try building a few more, while we have the time.”

He glanced up to see the specter staring at him with a figuratively-raised eyebrow and a smile that clearly said _“Really?”_

Joseph paused, before realizing what he said.

“Okay, that time, the pun _wasn't_ intentional.”

The two laughed as they moved to work on another timepiece.

* * *

Helping the people of Subcon Village was something the former prince often did, back when he was alive. Ever since he was very young, his parents taught him the importance of helping the people of their kingdom with even the smallest things; something the king and queen practiced themselves, whenever they were in the village. The ruler of the forest took joy in aiding his people with whatever they were doing. Though he was now a ghost, he still enjoyed helping people with whatever they needed to do.

On this particular day, the prince found himself aiding Selene in making-

  
  


**“Frames?”**

  
  


Countless empty painting frames lined the walls of Selene's home, each one carved with unique designs and painted with various colors.

The carpenter gave him a cheerful nod as she carefully assembled a new one.

“That's right,” she confirmed, precisely piecing the wooden pieces together. “I'm putting frames together.”

Scanning the room, the specter raised a figurative eyebrow as he examined the various carved frames. **"Are you planning on painting?"**

"Oh, no," she replied, focused more on her work than what she was saying.

That only made many, _many_ more questions pop into the royal specter's mind. **“Not** **to be rude or anything, but if you're not planning on painting, why are you making frames?”** he couldn't help but inquire.

Selene bit her ghostly lip as she turned her head away. “Oh, you know!” she nonchalantly replied, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “Just a hobby!”

  
  


From the tone of her voice, he doubted it was simply a _hobby._

  
  


**“Selene, is there something you're not telling me?”** the inquisitive prince asked, crossing his arms as his glowing eyes focused on the carpenter.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, voice rising in pitch as she tried- and failed- to play dumb.

  
  


Oh, he was _not_ buying it.

**  
_“Selene.”_ **

  
  


One stern look from the prince was all it took for her to finally give in. “All right,” she sighed, “let's just say there's _someone_ in the village that has taken to painting, and-”

She moved a hand in circles, trying to play the whole thing off like it was no big deal.

“- this person would be _really_ embarrassed if anyone else found out they were painting.”

  
  


As Selene spoke, the prince's glowing, fanged grin grew bigger as he listened. A _painter_ in the village? How delightful! They hadn't had a painter in _years!_ Sure, he was _technically_ a painter, thanks to those lessons he took, quite a few years back, but he hadn't thought to try his hand at a few new paintings since his d-

  
  


_**Let's not go there, right now.** _

  
  


Shaking his head as though to shake the morbid thought away, he floated over to the carpenter's side and clasped his hands together.

**“You know, for future reference, you could start out with just saying-”**

“Oh, shut up and grab some wood, will you?”

The noble laughed slightly, snatching up some nearby lumber. **“All right, show me how to do this!”**

* * *

_He was **forever grateful** that he couldn't feel pain, anymore._

  
  


No matter how careful the maned phantom was, he would end up fumbling or slipping with his tools in ways that would have _undoubtedly_ cut off a few fingers, or even his hand, if it weren't for the fact he was a _ghost._

Fortunately, his slip-ups didn't cause any damage to the wood he was carving.

By the time they had finished, there were _hundreds_ of frames ready for new paintings. Selene examined each finished frame as the prince dusted his hands off.

“Not bad for royalty,” the carpenter remarked, nodding to further emphasize her approval of the woodwork.

**“'Not bad'?”** the specter repeated, his tone becoming jokingly indignant as he crossed his arms. **“I think I did well with these frames, I'll have you know!”**

_“Well,”_ she teasingly stressed, “considering all of the times you slipped with that saw, and with all of those sharp tools that would have _surely_ taken off your hand or fingers-”

 **"Pft!"** He waved a hand dismissively, rolling his glowing eyes. **“As if _that_ matters _,_ anymore!”**

“Hey, we may be ghosts, but I still need to grade you on your craftsmanship, _and_ how you handle tools,” the carpenter informed him.

Shaking his head, the ghostly ruler of the forest chuckled as he counted all of the frames they had made. Quite a sizable amount, for just two people!

Selene wasted no time in grabbing a few of the frames and tucking them under her arm.

“Well, I should get these delivered,” was all she said, floating over to the door.

 **“By yourself?”** the prince asked, surprise taking hold of him. **“You're not serious, are you?”**

The remark made the carpenter turn around. “I'll be fine!” she replied, “It won't take long.”

A frown crossed his face as he took hold of a few frames, himself. **“Nonsense,”** he insisted, **“I'll help you.”**

Selene bit her lower lip, glancing back at the door. “I-I appreciate the offer, but...”

Trailing off, she glanced away, somewhat nervous as she rubbed her head.

He raised a figurative eyebrow. **"But...?"**

"Well, I-" Selene cut herself off, searching for words. “I don't know if the person in question would want anyone to know where they have the frames dropped off at.”

  
  


_Ah, that was it._

  
  


**“Well, I'm certain they wouldn't mind if you had a** _ **bit**_ **of help,”** was his response, _**“** **especially**_ **if I don't say a word about any of this.”**

The look on Selene's face clearly displayed the _arduous_ deliberation going on in her mind. Patiently, the maned ghost waited for her to come to a decision.

Whatever she decided, he would respect her choice.

Finally, the carpenter smiled, giving him a confident nod. “I guess it won't hurt if you help me. Come on, let's get going!”

* * *

Hauling the first load of frames through the forest, the carpenter and noble flew side-by-side as they strolled between the trees. As he chatted with Selene, the specter found his mind wandering constantly. No matter how he tried to focus on the conversation, he just _couldn't._ The thought of what kind of name he wanted for himself was just too distracting!

  
  


_Perhaps his companion could provide some kind of answer._

  
  


**“Hey, Selene,”** the specter said, remaining mindful of the trees as he glanced at the carpenter. **“There's something that I've had on my mind for a while, and I would like your input on it, if you don't mind.”**

Raising a figurative, curious eyebrow, the spectral carpenter turned her head to the prince. “What's been bugging you?”

**“Well, I've been considering what to call myself- since, you know, I don't want** _**her** _ **figuring out who I am.”**

She whistled slightly, turning her head forwards. “Names are tough. What kind of name are you going for?”

 **“Something scary,”** was his answer as he glanced back to where they were going. He flew a bit higher when he noticed the ground shift from solid to pure muck. **“I want Shady's forces to** _ **fear**_ **me, but I don't want something** _ **too**_ **complicated, you know?”**

Selene hummed slightly, biting her inner cheek. “So, something like 'Shadowfang'?” she soon suggested.

The prince grimaced. **“Not... _exactly...”_** he murmured, his voice's pitch going a bit higher as he tried to think of the best way to say what he was thinking. **“No offense, but 'Shadowfang' is a bit too... silly.”**

The carpenter shrugged. “Hey, I'm a carpenter. I'm better at woodworking than I am with naming something.”

He furrowed his figurative brow and let out a tired sigh. **“Thank you for trying, anyway.”**

Reaching up, Selene gave the noble's shoulder a good couple of pats. “You'll think of something; don't worry.”

Before he could respond, she suddenly pointed to a tree house in the distance. “There it is!” she told him. “Let's get these frames inside, before they get here-”

  
  


All of a sudden, she _froze_ as a ghost floated out of the tree house.

The prince's eyes grew large as a _familiar woodcutter_ stared back at them.

Clarissa's mouth was wide open as she turned her gaze back and forth between the maned specter and the carpenter. Pure horror was _blatant_ on her face.

The first coherent thought that crossed the specter's currently-whirring mind clearly detailed his surprise:

  
  


_**Clarissa** was a **painter?**_

  
  


“Before you say anything,” Selene blurted out, “I did _not_ tell him it was you, and I _though_ t you were still in the village.”

The woodcutter inhaled sharply, even though she didn't need to. Her lips were thin as she frowned at them both.

_That was_ **not** _a good sign._

He _fully_ expected Clarissa to **yell** at them both, right then and there.

_Instead, she did something else entirely._

  
  


“Get inside, _quickly!”_ she ordered, darting over to push the two ghosts towards the tree house.

Startled by the sudden force, both the prince and Selene yelped.

**“Whoa-! Clarissa, calm down-”**

“Easy-!”

Ignoring the protests of her fellow ghosts, Clarissa harshly shoved them both straight into the tree house.

Upon entering the structure, the first thing the specter noticed was painting after painting covering the walls, each one depicting different scenes and concepts, others being unfinished sketches. An artist's easel was placed in a corner of the room

He gaped in _awe_ at the sight.

“Selene, I told you _not to bring anyone else here,”_ Clarissa hissed through her teeth.

“I _know,_ but he helped me make the frames, and he _wouldn't let me_ carry them here by myself...” the carpenter anxiously explained, her smile nervous as she rubbed her hands.

“But the _prince?”_ the woodcutter whispered in a higher pitch.

“Hey, he won't tell anyone!” Selene said in a hushed tone.

“How do you know he won't?”

“Come on, you know His Highness! He can keep a secret!”

“It doesn't _matter_ if he can keep a secret; if _he_ knows, _who else_ could find out!?”

“Oh, come on! It's not the _worst_ thing if he knows!”

 _“It is!_ Even if I wasn't here, he could still _sense_ me here, whenever I came here to paint! He would figure it out, because _you brought him here!”_

“Oh, so it's _my_ fault that he wanted to help?”

“You could have _refused!”_

“He was _very_ persuasive!”

  
  


As the two girls argued back and forth as quietly as they could, their words seemed to fade away as the ruler of the forest carefully set the frames he held against a wall, and floated over to examine the numerous paintings.

  
  


They depicted scenes such as the various towers around the forest, his tree home, the village, the villagers and children, the swamp... All of them painted so _painstakingly,_ with steady strokes, each one a different style and with so many _colors..._

His eyes widened to an incredible size as he glanced over to one painting in particular; one that depicted a magnificent castle-

  
  


_The castle._ It looked so _majestic,_ the way Clarissa had painted it.

  
  


_His home... Oh, the memories..._

  
  


It made his heart _ache_ to think of those ancient walls, his old room, the kitchen where he and his parents would help the servants cook...

  
  


_Sweet memories._

  
  


He soon returned to reality as he resumed marveling at the brushstrokes used to create the masterpiece.

 **“Clarissa, these paintings are** _ **magnificent!”**_ the ghost breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from the depiction of his old home.

Almost immediately, Clarissa and Selene's fighting ceased. If Clarissa had still been alive, there would be no doubt the woodcutter would be blushing; mostly from embarrassment.

“They're fine,” she murmured, glancing away as she rubbed the back of her spectral head.

“No, he's right; they're amazing!” Selene insisted. “You have a good eye, and skill!”

Finally tearing his eyes away from the painting of the castle, the prince turned to Clarissa as she glanced away from both him and Selene. From the look on her face, he could tell that Clarissa was- without a doubt- _embarrassed beyond belief._ But why? Her work was _stunning!_ He couldn't fathom why she would _ever_ be embarrassed of the clear artistic expertise she displayed in her paintings!

**“Clarissa-”**

The ghost floated over to the woodcutter and placed a hand on her shoulder.

**“- why are you embarrassed?”**

  
  


Exhaling sharply, the ghostly painter steeled her nerves and turned to the prince, crossing her arms in the process.

  
  


“I... don't know.”

  
  


She glanced away and at Selene, her expression lightening slightly as the carpenter gazed at the woodcutter in concern.

“I just-” Clarissa cut herself off, before speaking again. “I guess I just didn't want people thinking of me as anything other than the woodcutter. The girl that lifts massive logs up on her shoulder and downs a tankard or two.”

  
  


Somehow, he doubted that was the _whole_ truth.

  
  


**“Clarissa, for as long as I've known you, you have** _ **never**_ **cared about what other people think,”** the prince pointed out.

Having her bluff called out, Clarissa turned her head away.

  
  


**“Please, tell us what's** _**really** _ **bothering you.”**

  
  


The woodcutter went into deep thought, considering whether or not to say what was on her mind. A hand went up to smooth back her spectral hair as she made her decision.

“It's my _identity;_ I'm a woodcutter.”

… Well, that was a bit of an odd response. Nonetheless, he clasped his clawed hands together and waited for her to explain further.

Folding her arms over her chest, the woodcutter sighed as her shoulders drooped.

“When I was alive, I was the woodcutter. I learned _everything_ from my parents, and I was the _best_ in the business!” Clarissa swung her hands like she was holding an axe. “I'd chop a tree down clean-through, and hoist that log up on my shoulder like it was _nothing!_ All of the kids would gawk at me and stare in _awe._ That was who I was; _the woodcutter.”_

What she was saying suddenly clicked in his mind.

**“And you're not used to being anyone else but that,”** the ghostly prince murmured.

Nodding slightly, Clarissa finally focused her gaze on the specter. “Yeah. It's just... something more _familiar.”_

Selene raised a figurative eyebrow, gliding straight over to the woodcutter. “You really missed chopping down trees that much?” asked the carpenter.

“... I did,” Clarissa confirmed after some reluctance. “I understand _why_ I couldn't cut trees down; Julio needed time to get the trees we already had healthy, and he needed to make sure that any saplings that were planted would actually _grow-”_

Shaking her head, Clarissa floated further into the tree house, hugging herself as she glanced at the floor.

“- but I still missed being able to do my job.”

  
  


**Oh, he felt** _**guilty.**_

  
  


**“Clarissa, I'm so sorry,”** the maned specter apologized, **“I had no idea how much this affected you.”**

Clarissa glanced over her shoulder at the prince. “It's fine,” she assured him, “it needed to be done, for the sake of the forest.”

She glanced at the carpenter. “Besides, I got to learn a lot about carpentry from you, Selene-”

Selene smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

Turning her head forward, Clarissa looked over all of the paintings she had created. “- and I found that painting... makes me really happy, too.”

“Does being a woodcutter not make you happy?” Selene soon asked.

“No, it does!” was the woodcutter's quick response. “I like being able to lift those logs onto my shoulder! It's just...”

Sighing, Clarissa turned back around to the two ghosts, her expression forlorn. “When those trees grow to full size, I don't know how I can choose between what I'm familiar with, and this new joy that I have.”

Silently, the prince and Selene glanced at each other. In that instant, the two knew _exactly_ what the other was thinking; they had no trouble expressing their thoughts as they glided over to Clarissa and placed their hands on her shoulders.

**“If both of those things make you happy-”** the prince began.

“- then why not do both?” Selene finished for him.

Clarissa blinked slightly in surprise, processing what they said. “Is... that something you can _do?”_ she asked, glancing between the two spirits curiously.

**“Considering I help around with different tasks a lot, I'd be surprised if it wasn't!”** exclaimed the ruler.

… A smile started spreading across Clarissa's face.

“A woodcutter _and_ a painter,” she murmured, before glancing at Selene. “Who also dabbles a bit in carpentry... Yeah, I could get used to that, I think.”

Grinning brightly, Selene pat Clarissa's shoulder. “That's the way!” the carpenter cheered.

A nervous laugh escaped Clarissa as she glanced away. “But I think I want to wait before I just... you know, _tell everyone_ about being a painter,” the woodcutter quickly said.

With a small smile, the prince of Subcon nodded. **“Of course,”** he replied, **“until then, your secret is safe with me.”**

* * *

Weeks after his conversation with Clarissa, the prince kept his promise of not telling anyone about her being a painter. Every so often, the royal ghost would discreetly stop by the tree house to visit the woodcutter while she painted, mostly to chat, and sometimes to join her in an art lesson or two.

He soon learned that they had _incredibly different_ art styles. While Clarissa's style seemed to fluctuate between Impressionism and Pointillism, his own style seemed to focus more on some kind of Realism.

Nonetheless, they both could appreciate the differences in their artistic expressions, and spent the days talking about their respective styles- and giving tips to each other about said styles to each other.

Despite bouncing between painting and Clarissa's makeshift art studio, Subcon's noble ghost found _plenty_ of time to help his people out around the village, play with the children, and still have some time for himself.

Those moments where the prince was left to his own devices were ones he spent with a good book or in deep thought.

  
  


_Today, however, he found himself doing something completely different._

  
  


While he spent some free time reading one of his favorite law books, he was unaware of the preparations that the rest of the forest's ghostly inhabitants were making in Subcon Village.

In the trees above, Gwendolyn kept a keen eye on the royal specter, having lied to the royal by saying it was her turn to patrol the part of the forest near the village. All the while, the rest of the villagers set up decorations just for the specter. The children soared about, giggling as quietly as they could while they helped place tiny stars all over the tree-stump homes, while the adults worked to hang up heavier decorations and put tables into place. Gifts were pulled out of homes and placed upon one table, while Ophelia and Aureola moved food out onto another.

“Hey, Maurice! Do you need any help?” Selene asked as she gazed up at the jeweler.

Maurice glanced down at the carpenter while they attempted to stretch a banner from one tree-stump home to another. “Oh, yes, perhaps I _could_ use a bit of help,” they mumbled to themselves, glancing away for a split-second before turning their head back to Selene. “I can't seem to get this banner hung up straight,” they fussed, “No matter what I do, it ends up _crooked!”_

That prompted the carpenter to hum in thought. “Hold on, I'll grab my hammer and some nails!” she called up to them, dashing away to her home.

“Thank you, dear child!” Maurice called back. “Honestly, this _confounded_ thing is driving me batty!”

“Ophelia, don't we have any bacon left?” Julio inquired, tugging on a rope to lift up another banner as the baker passed by.

Ophelia balanced a tray of tarts on one hand as she turned to Julio. “I'm bringing the bacon out last!” she informed him.

“Now, I don't see a need for that!” Raymond suddenly exclaimed, having floated by with their present for the royal ghost. “Personally, I'd like to get a piece of bacon or two before His Highness devours it all!”

Frowning, the baker pointed a finger at the schoolteacher. “Now, _Raymond,”_ she sternly said, her tone becoming a scolding one, “you should know better than to say things like that!”

Almost immediately, Raymond sheepishly smiled. “Sorry, ma'am,” they quickly apologized.

With a small “Hmph,” the baker continued on her route to the food table.

“Besides, everyone knows the boy has the nose of a _bloodhound,_ when it comes to bacon,” the gardener informed them, before winking at Raymond with a slight grin on his face. “The moment he catches a _whiff_ of the stuff, he'll be over here before you can blink!”

The schoolteacher laughed, nodding as they floated over to the present table. “That's true, that's true!” they chuckled, placing their present down next to the others.

Clarissa stood by the gift table with Zacharias, her arms crossed as she glanced over all of the neatly-wrapped presents. A frown appeared on her face as she thought about her own gift. Having not told anyone else about being a painter, she was a bit hesitant to bring it over...

“Clarissa, where's your gift?”

Clarissa yelped as Anne suddenly popped up from behind her, the cobbler leaning forward as she noticed the woodcutter's lack of a present.

_“Geez, Anne-!”_ the miller cried, spinning around from the cobbler's yelling.

“Sorry!” The cobbler smiled, energetic as ever, before she turned to Clarissa. “Seriously, where's your present at?” she asked the woodcutter.

Rubbing her head, Clarissa stumbled over her words. “I- uh- I couldn't get it finished in time,” she immediately lied.

“How long does it take to make something out of _wood?”_ Anne nearly yelled in disbelief.

Instantly, Zacharias slapped a hand over Anne's mouth. _“Don't yell!_ We don't want to ruin the surprise!” they said through their teeth.

The miller stumbled back as the shoemaker raised her arm underneath their own, forcing their hand off of her mouth. “Okay, _okay!”_ Anne grumbled, picking up a chair and floating off towards the food table.

The two watched her leave. A second later, Zacharias rubbed the back of their head as they turned to Clarissa.

“Sorry, she can be a bit excitable, when it comes to parties,” they apologized.

Clarissa held up a hand, shaking her head slightly. “No, its fine,” she replied, glancing over at the miller. “I can understand; parties _are_ pretty fun. Personally, I can't wait to down a tankard of cocoa.”

That made Zacharias laugh as they slapped their knee. “Ah, Clarissa, never stop being you, ya hear me?”

She had to force a confident smile on her face as she nodded.

As Zacharias glanced back in Anne's direction, they froze and stared in utter horror. “Ah, mind helping me get Anne under control? She looks like she's about to try and _throw_ that chair into place,” they quickly pointed out.

Clarissa only needed a glance to know the miller was telling the truth. “Uh, yeah, let's go!” she cried, acting fast in order to subdue the cobbler with Zacharias' help.

Once Anne had been restrained and the chair safely placed against the table, Ophelia clapped her hands together as the other villagers finished their tasks.

“Is everything ready?” the baker asked. Her question was soon answered with many nodding heads. “All right, time to bring out the bacon!”

* * *

_… That smell..._

  
  


Glancing up from his book, the prince of Subcon Forest sniffed the air slightly.

  
  


_That **couldn't** be..._

  
  


In an instant, the book was slammed shut and sent it back to the bookshelf. He floated up from his chair, gliding across the thorny vine bridge that led to his home and down the path to the village.

  
  


_Why were the villagers cooking bacon at this time of the day?_

  
  


Rounding the bend, the prince soon got his answer.

  
  


All over the village, countless colorful stars sparkled from their places on the tree-stump homes, while colorful banners hung about, each one a different color and design. One long banner hung between two of the tree-stump houses, the words _“Happy Birthday!”_ flowing across the purple fabric in bright yellow. Below it were two tables, one piled high with countless gift boxes, while the other held an assortment of different foods and drinks, including a _**massive**_ pile of bacon on a platter.

Despite spotting the bacon, the maned ghost was so surprised by the sight that his curiosity overrode his intense desire to grab _every_ strip and down it at once.

  
  


**“What** _ **is**_ **all of this?”** he soon asked, glancing around at the smiling faces of the adults.

Julio and Ophelia glanced at each other with beaming smiles.

“This is our gift to you,” the gardener informed the prince.

He blinked slightly in surprise. **"A gift...?"**

“You've told us year after year _not_ to bother with a birthday party,” Ophelia added, wagging her finger at the specter. “You always say 'it's more important that we save up our supplies' _every single year,_ but not _once_ have you held back on celebrating any of _our_ birthdays. Now, it's your turn to get a party.”

He couldn't believe it. **“All of this... just for me?”** the taller ghost asked, absolutely _floored_ by the gesture.

“That, plus today's a good day for you to get a new name, don't you think?” Selene added, floating over to nudge his arm with her elbow. “I mean, what better time than your _birthday?”_

  
  


His eyes were watering; _their kindness was_ **soul-stirring.**

  
  


_**How did he get so lucky to have all of these amazing people?** _

  
  


Not missing a beat, Aureola held out a handkerchief to him with a calm smile.

Silently, he accepted it, dabbing at his eyes as a huge grin spread across his face.

**“You are the** _ **best**_ **family a ghost could ever ask for,”** he gushed, soon returning the piece of cloth to its owner.

Julio smiled slightly, floating over to pat the prince on the shoulder. “Hey, if we're a family, what does that make me?”

 **“You?”** Raising a talon-like finger to his glowing mouth, the prince smiled as his gaze rose up to the starry night sky. **“If I had to venture a guess, I'd say you're the kind uncle with a hearty laugh.”**

Stroking his chin, Julio let out the aforementioned hearty laugh. “Yep, that sounds about right!”

“What about me?” Ophelia asked, a joking tone in her voice.

Julio grinned slightly as he turned to her. “I'd say you're the aunt that acts more like a mom, and knows how to make a mean pie!”

“Oh, _you!”_ Ophelia waved her hand once as a flattered smile appeared on her face.

“Who am I, then?” Diana asked, leaning against a chair with their forearm.

“You're the grandparent that can easily knock soldiers onto their behinds without a problem!” was the gardener's response.

“You're _darn right_ I am!” the blacksmith cried, grinning slightly with pride.

“Oh! Oh! Who am I!?” Anne bobbed excitedly as she held a hand up in the air.

 **“That's easy; the energetic,** _ **loud**_ **older sister,”** the phantom said with a sly grin.

 _“YES!”_ the cobbler cried, fist-pumping the air.

  
  


“Which means I'm the _cool_ younger sibling, then!” Zacharias smirked, crossing his arms with pride.

“Who _always_ gets into trouble,” Joseph added on.

Zacharias flicked the clockmaker's head. “And you're the little brother that's too _nice_ for his own good.”

_“Hey!”_

_“Boys,”_ Ophelia warned staring sternly at the two.

“Sorry,” Joseph and Zacharias said in unison, glancing down at the ground.

Clarissa laughed. “I'm the fun aunt!” she announced, raising a fist into the air.

“Hey, I'm fun, too!” Selene argued.

“Yes, but you're a _calm_ fun aunt,” Horace pointed out, “while Clarissa's the more _rowdy_ fun aunt.”

“What does that make me?” William suddenly inquired.

“The uncle that's _really_ calm, but can get a bit _too_ prideful, sometimes!” Anne cried.

William raised a finger to argue, but soon put it down. “Actually, you're right.”

“Hey, since we have fun _aunts,”_ Raymond suddenly said, wrapping their arms around Clarissa and Selene, “how about a fun _entle!”_

“Don't forget the fun uncle,” Frederick chimed in, “ _every_ family needs a fun uncle!”

"What do you think I would be?" Horace suddenly inquired.

“I would say you are the great-uncle who talks a bit too loud, and _always_ has those caramel candies in his pockets,” Gwendolyn coolly pointed out.

“Can I help it if I like caramel?” Horace joked, a cheerful gleam in his spectral eye.

Maurice held their chin. “What would that make me...?” they muttered, figurative brow furrowed in thought.

Clarissa grinned mischievously. “The great-entle that is _really_ picky about stuff-”

Maurice instantly snapped out of their thoughts. “Why, I _never-!”_

“- but is still a goodhearted person we love,” the woodcutter finished.

That got Maurice to stop complaining. They soon composed themselves, a hint of a smile on their face as they considered what Clarissa said. “Well, I _suppose_ so,” they finally agreed, “but I am _not_ that picky-”

“Oh, shut it, you old codger,” Diana interrupted, pushing the jeweler's shoulder. “We're just poking fun.”

While Maurice grumbled about how incorrigible they all were, Gwendolyn turned around to face Ophelia. “What would I be?” she asked the baker.

A kind smile appeared on Ophelia's face as she answered. “You would be the older sister who makes sure no one gets into trouble.”

A bit of a smile appeared on Gwendolyn's face, as she held a hand over her chest. “I will wear that title with pride,” she seriously stated.

Folding their handkerchief, Aureola gazed silently at everyone while they spoke.

Joseph soon took notice of the milliner. “What's Aureola, then?”

  
  


Everyone glanced over at Aureola, who slowly gazed back at everyone in response.

  
  


The prince furrowed his figurative brow for a moment, before a fanged, glowing smile appeared on his face.

**“They're the quiet younger sibling who** _ **rarely**_ **talks,”** he began, **“but when they do, they** _ **always**_ **have good ideas and even** _ **better**_ **advice.”**

The smile on Aureola's face clearly showed their happiness about what they were in the prince's family.

“Hey, what about the children?” Julio asked, glancing at the masked spirits that looked eager to eat the food on the table. “Where do they fit in?”

  
  


Everyone thought about that for a few seconds.

  
  


“He's their father,” Aureola unexpectedly said as they leaned their head back to look at the prince.

All at once, the prince whipped his head down to look at Aureola. Shock was apparent on his face as he shook his head quickly, his mane flying about from the rapid movement. **“No, I wouldn't say that I'm their** _ **father,”**_ he politely- but rather quickly argued, **“more like a fun uncle to the kids!”**

The hat-maker maintained eye contact with the maned ghost, not breaking it for even a _second._

“You're their father, but you're nervous about it,” they plainly stated.

“Even though you're doing a _fantastic_ job of being a father,” Raymond mentioned.

  
  


Everyone was _unanimous_ about their opinions, nodding to one another and making their own remarks on how wonderful of a dad the prince was.

  
  


_Heck, he couldn't argue with them; they were already_ **dead-set** _on their opinions._

  
  


**“Well, I guess...”** he finally relented, turning his attention over to the countless children surrounding the food table. **“Well, should we eat? The kids look like they're ready to tear the table apart!”**

Giggling, Ophelia motioned to the gigantic pile of bacon on a platter. “The birthday boy gets the first serving,” she informed him.

Despite how much he would have been _salivating_ over the sweet, _sweet_ sight of bacon, he somehow managed to keep a hold on himself. **“You should all get what you want, first,”** he insisted, **“I don't know if there will be** _ **any**_ **left, by the time I'm done.”**

Raising a figurative eyebrow in surprise, Julio tilted his head slightly. “Are you sure about that?”

The ghostly ruler nodded. **“I am** _ **positive,”**_ he emphasized, **“so go on; take some!”**

Taking a brief moment to glance at one another for reassurance in their decision, the villagers shrugged and smiled, all of them lining up to get a piece of bacon from the platter. All the while, the prince waited with forced patience, not wanting anyone to go without bacon- even though every bit of his being **screamed** at him to rush the platter head-first and _**eat it all,**_ right then and there.

Finally, after what felt like _ages,_ everyone had been served. All of the children munched on their strips excitedly while the adults politely chewed.

  
  


_**Finally!** _

  
  


Like a mad animal, the prince _lunged_ at the platter, snatching up each strip of the delectable meat and stuffing it into his mouth. The sight was quite startling; even Ophelia- who, by now, was used to seeing the prince act this way, when it came to bacon- was surprised by the phantom's ferocity as he tore into each strip.

“Man, look at him go,” Joseph remarked after swallowing the last piece of his own strip. “Snatching it up like that and stuffing his face with it.”

Zacharias nodded slightly, chewing the last bite of their own bacon. “Yeah...”

… All of a sudden, the miller's ghostly eyes widened as they rushed to properly chew up their food and swallow.

“Hey!” they suddenly cried, gaining the attention of everyone except the prince, who was too absorbed in consuming the delicious strips to hear anything. “Since he needs a new name-” they motioned to the bacon-consuming maned ghost, who was just finishing cleaning off his fingers. “- how about 'The Snatcher'?”

Everyone stared at Zacharias, each one contemplating what they said.

Registering Zacharias' suggestion, the ruler of Subcon Forest turned his attention to the miller as he thought about the choice in name.

**“'The Snatcher'...”** The prince hummed, his yellow eyes shifting into thin lines as he closed them in thought. **“A bit** _ **corny,**_ **but it still has a ring to it; a certain something that's** _ **foreboding...”**_

After a moment, he opened his eyes, his fanged smile growing into a gigantic grin. **“I like it!”** he exclaimed. **“'The Snatcher'!” That's** _ **perfect,**_ **Zacharias! Thank you!”**

The miller beamed as everyone cheered. With his new name chosen, The Snatcher leaned back and released a booming, joyous laugh that echoed through the trees.

  
  


**“Now, let's get back to eating! Say, is that pumpkin pie?”**

* * *

In the late hours of the night, The Snatcher flew through the forest at a strolling pace. The gigantic tree he called home loomed in front of him as he floated over the vine bridge and made his way inside, his glowing eyes closed as exhaustion began to take hold over the phantom.

After all of the partying, he was plumb-tired.

Once they had all finished eating and the maned ghost had opened his presents, the children were sent to bed, all tuckered out and ready for slumber. The adults stayed awake for _much_ longer to chat, joke, laugh, and recall stories of the prince's youth- although Clarissa _did_ leave a bit early, mentioning she had guard duty in the morning. Eventually, the party winded down, and everyone returned home to get some sleep.

Thinking back to his gifts, a cheerful grin appeared on The Snatcher's inky face. Oh, he had gotten many _wonderful_ presents from everyone, and each one he treasured dearly. Aureola somehow found old, tattered pages of violin music that they managed to fix, Horace had made him new clothes to replace the shadow of the specter's former, princely attire that he wore when he shape-shafted into a human, Anne had made him new shoes...

The only person he hadn't gotten a gift from was Clarissa, who had said her gift to him wasn't finished yet. He had given the woodcutter an understanding smile. More than likely, she didn't want people to know about her new hobby in painting, just yet.

  
  


_That was perfectly fine; he could wait for her to bring her gift to him, in the morning._

  
  


As he turned to sit in his armchair, the prince opened his eyes and realized that something was on the table. Blinking in surprise, The Snatcher glided over to examine the object; some kind of flat, wrapped present with a bow on it. A piece of parchment was laid on top, which the former prince quickly picked up to read.

  
  


Ah, it was from Clarissa.

  
  


_Sorry I couldn't give this to you at the party. I'm still not ready to tell anyone about my painting hobby._

  
  


No surprise there; he had guessed that was the reason why she didn't bring her gift along.

  
  


_I was also having trouble with a name, until you arrived. So I wasn't_ completely _lying about it not being done._

_Happy Birthday, Snatcher!_

  
  


Chuckling slightly, The Snatcher set the note aside and lifted up the gift. Slicing the paper carefully on one side with a talon, the ghost tentatively tore the paper off to see the back of a painting frame. He turned the frame around, and-

  
  


_Oh..._

  
  


Admiration and awe filled his features as he gazed at the painting.

  
  


Before him, painstakingly painted upon the canvas, was _himself,_ with all of the villagers together around him. Everyone was smiling, their spectral faces aglow with pure joy as they wrapped their arms around each others' shoulders. Not one person was left out; even _Clarissa_ was in it, which was rather impressive for her to paint herself so _accurately._

She must have used mirrors to pull that off, that clever woodcutter!

All of the children were in the painting, too! Not a single child forgotten! They all were facing forward, some holding their favorite toys while others held tails like they were holding hands. Despite the masks they wore, from the way Clarissa painted the little ones, it was as though pure joy was emanating from their oil-painted beings. Without a doubt, if their faces could be seen, they would all _surely_ be smiling.

He couldn't believe how _life-like_ the painting was! It must have taken Clarissa _ages_ to make this; after all, realism wasn't the usual style she painted in!

Something metallic gleamed in the very edge of his vision. Glancing down at the bottom of the carved frame, the specter realized that there was a plaque attached to the painting, a name for the work carved elaborately into the metal.

A tender smile appeared on his face, the sleepy look in his eyes changing into one of fondness as he read the title.

_The Snatcher and His Family_

_**His soul had never felt warmer.** _


	18. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm is unbearable, unless you have no idea that a storm is coming.

**This was, perhaps, the** _**craziest**_ **thing he had ever done.**

  
  


“You can do this, Your Highness!” he heard Julio call from a safe distance behind the specter.

“Just take the soul, and we'll see if those days of research paid off!” Frederick chimed in.

“Don't move fast; it bites!” Zacharias called.

Julio and Frederick _stared_ at the miller.

“What? It does!”

_“What are you doing here?”_ Frederick asked Zacharias.

“I wanted to watch!” was the miller's response. “How often do you get to see something like _this?”_

“How did you even _know_ what we were going to do!?” the scientist demanded.

Zacharias smiled cheerfully. “I didn't!”

  
  


The specter glanced back at the trio, an uncertain expression taking hold over his darkened face. He curiously looked between the gardener, the scientist, and the miller as they quietly spoke.

  
  


“How did you know we would be here?” Julio inquired.

“Easy; held Joseph in a headlock until he told me,” Zacharias answered with a slightly proud, slightly mischievous grin.

The gardener's jaw dropped. “Zacharias, you shouldn't-”

Frederick pat Julio's shoulder, effectively silencing him. “It doesn't matter, now,” the schoolteacher whispered, “they're here, so we might as well accept that.”

He motioned Zacharias over. “Stay back here; I don't know what kind of range His Highness' powers might have...”

It didn't take long for the miller to heed his command, rushing right over to the schoolteacher's side the instant those words were uttered.

  
  


Facing the hissing spider once more, the royal ghost sighed as he locked his gaze with the arachnid's eyes. The currently-caged bug hissed at the ghost, venom oozing from their enlarged fangs.

  
  


**He couldn't believe he was** _**actually**_ **doing this.**

* * *

It all started when the prince made his way over to Frederick's tower, just after the schoolteacher had finished teaching the day's lessons to the children. While he had been building clocks with Joseph, the clockmaker had informed the specter that Frederick wanted to see noble in the laboratory tower, once the schoolteacher was done teaching the children for the day.

Naturally, this piqued the maned ghost's curiosity.

**“Did Frederick say why, by any chance?”** the prince had asked.

Joseph merely shrugged in response as he pieced a small clock back together. “No, he didn't. Although, he _did_ mention something about the spiders, I think? He was talking pretty fast, so that's about all I got from his babbling.”

At that, the prince hummed, furrowing his figurative brow as he pondered what the scientist was planning.

 **“Well, I suppose I'll have to see what he's up to, later,”** he stated, pushing the many questions in his mind aside as he focused on replacing a worn-out gear in a small pocket watch.

  
  


After the children were freed from their lessons, the ghostly prince had made his way across the large chasm that separated the village from the laboratory tower, and went straight to the door. The moment the maned ghost entered the structure, Frederick had flown right over to him, asking if he would be willing to do a few tests.

**“What kind of tests?”** the maned prince had asked the scientist.

“Just simple ones,” Frederick replied, “I wanted to see if we could figure out what is causing your ability to take souls out of people's bodies.”

  
  


The inky phantom's eyes grew _enormous._

  
  


**“I don't think that would be a good idea,”** the specter immediately protested. **“Taking souls from people... is** _ **not**_ **something I want to do, again.”**

“Not _people,_ Your Highness!” reassured the schoolteacher. “The spiders!”

The maned ghost blinked in confusion. **“The spiders?”** he mimicked.

“Of course!” The scientist nodded confidently, patting the royal's shoulder. “After all, their population is getting a bit out of hand, as of late.”

Hesitance was apparent in the prince's voice as he wrung his hands. **“I don't know, Frederick,”** he apprehensively said, **“there are** _ **so**_ **many things that could go wrong...”**

Frederick paused briefly, rubbing his chin. “Well, think of it this way,” he suggested, “you could use the practice if you don't want to accidentally take someone's soul out of their body, again! Or perhaps you would like to control that kind of power, in case another _horrible_ person like Lewis came around.”

  
  


Another person like _Lewis._ **T** **hat liar, who tried to take some of the** _ **children**_ **away...!**

  
  


The specter hummed in thought, figurative brow furrowed in deep concentration for just a moment.

 **“If I do this, we will need something to keep the spider's souls trapped inside of,”** he told the schoolteacher. **“I don't want their souls getting loose in the forest; I may not be all that knowledgeable about how** _ **souls**_ **work, but if the souls came back as** _ **ghost**_ **spiders-”**

“Ah, yes, I see what you mean...” The scientist trailed off, floating over to a bookshelf in his laboratory. Carefully, he removed one book from the shelf and moved back to the specter. “Well, I think this might be a good time to take a look through that tome that Lewis left for us, wouldn't you agree?”

As Frederick placed the tome in question in his clawed hand, the phantom's glowing yellow eyes gazed down at the old cover of the book.

  
  


Lewis _did_ have something that he had tried to use to capture the children with...

As much as he **despised** the idea of using it, the container _would_ be a good place to store those souls...

_Perhaps that container would prove beneficial, after all..._

  
  


He glanced back up to Frederick. **“Before we start with** _ **any**_ **tests, we should do some research into how to contain souls,”** the specter finally relented. **“We should also look into ways to make sure whatever we use doesn't trap** _ **us**_ **inside, as well.”**

* * *

Which is how, a week later, the ghostly prince ended up in front of a cage spider in Frederick's laboratory.

  
  


Frederick, Julio, and the uninvited Zacharias stayed _far away_ from the Snatcher, backed against the wall behind the maned noble out of caution.

**“You know, all of you being that far away from me is _not_ very reassuring!”** Snatcher mentioned, nervousness hinted in the tone of his distorted voice.

“Just focus!” Frederick called back.

  
  


_Focus..._

**He wanted the spider's soul.**

_**Focus!** _

  
  


Lightning struck the bug multiple times, until the creature's soul flew up from their body and into the prince's clawed hand.

_“Holy-”_

Zacharias cut themselves off, wide-eyed with awe at the ruler's display of soul-robbing power. Julio held a hand over his mouth, while Frederick clapped.

“Marvelous!” the scientist cried. “Quickly, bring the little nuisance over here!”

Obeying immediately, the maned ghost glided over to the scientist, his clawed hand tightly clenching the spider's soul.

“Now all that is left to do is put the soul into the container,” Julio seriously stated.

Frederick nodded, picking up the box that had been confiscated from Lewis.

**“I don't want to risk letting the soul go,”** the prince soon told them. **“If it flies off, I'm afraid it could cause trouble.”**

“Mmm...” Frederick stroked his chin slightly. “We _still_ haven't figured out a way to keep the container from trapping any of _us,_ either...”

Silence fell as the maned phantom closed his eyes, thinking long and hard. “Is it possible to _release_ souls trapped inside of the box?” he inquired, his glowing eyes opening back up to glance at the scientist.

“Oh, _definitely!”_ was Frederick's response. “It's as easy as lifting up the lid!”

  
  


Okay, there was only _one_ way to go about this.

  
  


**“In that case, you'll just have to let me back out,”** the taller ghost finally decided.

Julio and Zacharias glanced at each other in alarm, while Frederick raised a figurative eyebrow. “Are you _sure_ about this, Your Highness?” the scientist asked. “I _know_ you can easily be let out, but I don't know if it'll...”

He tapped his fingers on the box's lid. “... I don't know if it'll be _painful_ or not,” he finished saying a second later.

Nodding, the royal of Subcon Forest sighed. **“Well, I'm about to find out, I suppose!”**

Clutching the box tightly in one hand, Frederick carefully grabbed Lewis' tome with the other and opened it up the the page he needed. While he did this, the prince glanced over at Julio and Zacharias.

  
  


**“If I get trapped inside that box, and you _can't_ get me back out of it,”** the maned specter told them, **“tell my ex-fiancée that** _ **I hate her.”**_

Zacharias grinned and leaned back against a wall. “Sure thing; we'll send her a personalized letter and _everything!”_ they exclaimed. “You want us to use the fancy parchment or regular?”

Subcon's ruler took a few seconds to _legitimately_ consider his options. **“As much as I don't want to waste it on her, she won't get the message if it's anything** **less than _grand,”_** he told them. **“Use the fancy parchment.”**

The miller gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it, boss!”

Chuckling slightly, the specter braced himself as Frederick opened the box.

  
  


A sudden, _powerful_ force erupted from the container's interior, surging forth towards the Snatcher. He screwed his eyes shut, holding the spider's soul out in front of himself as the unnatural force swept around his ghostly being-

  
  


_He didn't feel any kind of tug or pull on him._

  
  


Opening his eyes, the ghostly prince glanced down at the soul of the arachnid that was in his grasp. The spider's soul seemed to be the _only_ thing the unusual gale-force winds were trying to pull inside of the container.

  
  


_How could this be?_

  
  


Releasing his grip on the spider's being, the phantom watched with a stunned expression on his face as the soul was pulled straight into the box.

Frederick immediately slammed the lid down. The violent winds ceased in an instant.

  
  


For a brief moment, _no one spoke._

Zacharias was the one who broke the silence.

  
  


“Hey, you didn't get trapped!” they joyfully yelled, raising their fists above their head in celebration.

Still stunned from what just transpired, Snatcher slowly lowered the arm that had been holding the spider's soul just moments before. A shocked expression stayed on his face as his fanged mouth opened slightly, then closed. Julio held a hand to his chest, relieved that the prince _hadn't_ been sucked into the box. Meanwhile, Frederick placed the box and the tome down on a nearby table and clapped his hands together with glee.

“It worked!” was the scientist's delighted cry as he darted over to the prince and pat his shoulder in congratulations. “We've done it, Your Highness!”

After blinking a few times, the prince of Subcon sported a very confused- but also utterly relieved- expression. **“I don't understand,”** he said to the scientist. **“I thought the box would trap** _ **me,**_ **as well. Why did it only take the** _ **spider's**_ **soul?”**

The question made Frederick pause. Now perplexed, the scientist held his chin as he floated around his laboratory.

“That _is_ rather curious, isn't it?” the schoolteacher noticed, unaware of Julio floating over to the tome and picking it up to read. “Why would it be that it wouldn't try to trap you, as well...?”

The maned ghost watched the scientist pace around as Zacharias peeked over Julio's shoulder, the miller watching curiously as the gardener flipped through the pages of the old book.

“Perhaps you're just too tall,” Frederick guessed, “or maybe it can only grab one soul at a time?”

 **“If the box could only grab one soul at a time, it wouldn't have tried to pull both Denise _and_ Alexis inside,”** Snatcher informed the scientist, frowning deeply as he recalled how the container had _almost_ trapped the two children.

“You're right...” Frederick replied with a nod. “What could it be...?”

“Frederick, Your Highness,” Julio suddenly interrupted, “I think I found something that might explain why it only trapped the spider's soul.”

Their attention snatched away, the schoolteacher and noble glanced over at the gardener.

**“What is it, Julio?”** the prince inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“Well, according to the book,” Julio began, “some ghosts are too _powerful_ to be trapped by any means.”

His gaze went from the book to the specter. “Given how much you can _do,_ I think you're too strong to be trapped by _anything.”_

Instantly, the Snatcher let out a long, relieved sigh. Frederick went over to pat him on the back. “That explains it!” the scientist exclaimed. “You're just too _powerful!”_

Now sheepish, the taller ghost shook his head slightly. **“Maybe so,”** he replied, **“but I'll** _ **still**_ **exercise caution around any sorcerers, just in case.”**

Carefully, Julio placed the book down on the table, focusing his attention on the royal ghost. Zacharias, meanwhile, picked the book up while no one was paying attention, skimming over the pages idly as the other ghosts spoke.

“That would be wise, Your Highness,” Julio stated. “After all, it would be _horrible_ if someone managed to capture you!”

Slowly nodding, the phantom hummed slightly as he held his figurative chin. **“Indeed...”** he murmured, before turning to examine the spider in the cage.

Frederick and Julio followed Snatcher's lead, moving over to the cage to watch the spider's behavior. Behind them, Zacharias was flipping through the pages of the ancient tome, their face contorting in disgust as they read.

“It's hard to really tell if there's any difference in how its behaving,” Julio noted.

 **“Considering the fact this is the only spider we have, it'll be difficult to compare their behavior to other spiders,”** the ghostly prince mentioned.

A look of contemplation appeared on Frederick's face as he held his chin and pondered aloud. “Yes, yes,” he agreed, humming a single note. “We may need more spiders- ones _with_ their souls- to compare to this one. Not to mention we _might_ need to take the souls out of some of them, in order to confirm whether or not any behavior they exhibit while soulless is _normal.”_

The Snatcher turned to Frederick. **“I can have Selene construct more cages for additional spiders.”**

“That would be _immensely_ helpful-”

  
  


All of a sudden, Zacharias slammed the book they were holding shut and put it back down on the table. The sudden noise caused the other three ghosts to spin around, momentarily distracted from their planning.

“Okay, that's enough soul stuff for me, today!” the miller suddenly announced in a cheeky manner. “Come on, what else do you guys have to do?”

The gardener, scientist, and maned ghost simultaneously looked at each other.

Frederick was the one that asked what was all on their minds. “Zacharias, are you... offering your services?” he hopefully inquired, his eyes lighting up almost instantly.

“Sure, why not?” The miller shrugged, glancing around at the laboratory. “I know I haven't exactly been the best student, in terms of following instructions-”

**“A _vast_ understatement,”** Snatcher jokingly quipped.

An unamused expression instantly appeared on Zacharias' face as they stared at the prince.

Grinning slightly, the prince shrugged.

“... But I'm interested in trying it out,” Zacharias finally finished.

Almost immediately, Frederick dashed over to the miller and wrapped an arm around their shoulders. _“Splendid!”_ the schoolteacher cried. “Come, then! There is _much_ for you to learn!”

As they watched Fredrick practically _drag_ Zacharias away, the gardener and the maned ghost gave each other uncertain looks.

“Do you really think Zacharias can follow the scientific method?” Julio asked.

**“It's _possible,”_** Snatcher stated, his voice rising slightly in uncertainty, **“but knowing Zacharias, it is** _ **far**_ **more likely the tower will be in shambles by the end of the day.”**

_“Oh, good grief...”_

* * *

By the time the day was nearing its end, the tower- quite fortunately for everyone involved- had _not_ exploded.

  
  


The day was mostly spent teaching young Zacharias how to properly make Frederick's patented explosive potions, thanks to the scientist's suggestion that they do something that was bound to keep the young miller's attention- which, upon mentioning the fact that the concoctions _blew up,_ was _immediately_ ensnared.

After explaining to Zacharias how the potions were made, the four ghosts got to work.

Now, Frederick and the Snatcher both had _plenty_ of experience making the blue potions. Even _Julio_ had gotten the hang of it, due to the time he spent waiting in the tower for specimens to grow and needing something to do, in the meantime.

Zacharias, on the other hand, had _no_ experience.

Which meant that the potions they tried to make _constantly exploded in their face._

  
  


If he was being honest, Snatcher had fully expected that- after the _fifteenth_ time- the miller would have gotten frustrated.

  
  


Instead, Zacharias just laughed as the blue liquid dripped down from their face.

“Man, this is so _cool!”_ they shouted, wiping their face off with a completely potion-drenched towel.

Frederick couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're _trying_ to make them blow up in your face!”

“Nah, it's just really tough,” the miller replied, tossing the towel down onto the table. “I'll get it, sooner or later!”

It took them _twenty-one_ attempts, but finally, they made their first _successful_ potion, and then another, and then _another..._

In no time at all, the ghostly miller had become a potion-making machine- something that surprised _everyone_ there.

"They sure have a knack for making potions, don't they?" Julio commented, holding a hand up to his chin as he observed Zacharias make a new potion in record time.

Frederick eagerly nodded, his spectral eyes shining with pride. "I've never seen them so involved with science, before," the scientist excitedly whispered. "It's _remarkable_ how quickly they got the hang of it!"

The Snatcher couldn't help but chuckle slightly. **"If they keep up the pace, we're going to have more potions than we know what to do with,"** he joked, shaking his head slightly as he finished up a potion that he had been making.

From that day on, Zacharias would head over to the laboratory and help with rapidly increasing their _now-massive_ stockpile of explosive potions.

* * *

Weeks passed. Weeks of constant testing, observation, and potion-making. Weeks of stealing souls from spiders and putting them in cages to see how they behave. Weeks of research and studying tomes.

  
  


_Weeks_ of research, _well paid off._

  
  


Eventually, Frederick and Julio cracked the code behind how to create containers that could hold souls inside of them. In no time at all, the locked cabinet upstairs hosted _many_ flasks that housed the souls of the arachnids, each container labeled with which spider the soul came from. They even moved the souls they had stored inside of Lewis's box over to flasks.

  
  


Secretly, the phantom was glad; he wanted to get rid of that **_accursed box_** as soon as possible.

The question was, _how_ were they supposed to get rid of it?  
  


“We can't just toss that thing,” Zacharias wisely noted, something that was rather uncharacteristic for the normally-rash miller. “What if someone _else_ found it and used it?”

Frederick floated over to the container, his figurative, ghostly brow furrowing as he thought. “That _is_ a good point,” he mused. A hint of pride was in his voice; the Snatcher assumed it was due to Zacharias' rather smart remark. Seconds later, however, the pride vanished as the scientist turned around to them all, seriousness etched upon his face. “We'll have to destroy it.”

**“That is fine by me,”** the maned specter remarked. **“The sooner we get rid of that thing, the _better.”_**

Julio nodded. “Agreed; I don't like looking at that thing...” he murmured, warily glancing at the box, the tome open in his ghostly lap.

“Let's burn it!” the miller enthusiastically suggested, their spectral eyes shining at the prospect.

“We can't just _burn_ it!” objected Frederick, disappointed in Zacharias' sudden shift from common sense to recklessness. “We don't know if that would work, or if it could have unforeseen consequences!”

Whirling around, the scientist directed his attention to Julio. “Julio, is there anything in the tome about disposing of objects meant to contain souls?”

Lifting the tome up, the gardener began searching through the book's tattered pages. “Let me see...”

“I don't get to do _anything_ fun,” Zacharias grumbled, crossing their arms and hunching down as a scowl spread across their face.

His glowing mouth shifting into a smile, the Snatcher floated over to the miller and pat their shoulder. **“You'll get your chance to burn something, one day,”** the maned ghost told them.

While the former prince consoled the disappointed miller, Julio focused on scanning through the old book. He soon raised his figurative brow as his eyes fixated on one specific paragraph.

“Well what do you know? There _is_ something in here about disposing of soul-containing objects," the gardener revealed.

_All eyes were on Julio in an instant._

After a few seconds, the gardener began reading aloud. “'The only way to safely destroy an object meant for containing souls is to burn it'-”

“YES!” was Zacharias' excited cry as he fist-pumped triumphantly.

“- 'with magical fire, preferably created by the Fire Spirits.'”

“Oh, _come on!”_ Zacharias yelled in annoyance, slouching over again. “We haven't seen any Fire Spirits in _years!”_

**“And I _highly doubt_ they'll come around these parts, due to _her,_ ”** Snatcher remarked, the gears in his ghostly head turning. **“Say, what about the fire _I_ can make?”**

Holding his chin, Julio raised the book closer to his face, before quickly lowering it. “I don't see why not!” the gardener exclaimed, “It _is_ magic, after all!”

Ten minutes later, the four ghosts were gathered around a small, blue bonfire. After listening to the miller's constant begging while they set everything up, the other three ghosts gave Zacharias the honor of tossing the box right into the flames- which they did while **screaming at the top of their lungs.**

  
  


_**Boy, was the Snatcher glad his ears couldn't ring, anymore!** _

  
  


As they all hovered around the fire, watching the horrid box burn away into nothing, the maned specter couldn't but feel relaxed. It was as though the last bit of Shady's evil schemes had just been _burned away._

  
  


_Aside from the tome, that is, but the ghosts of the forest were using that for their own benefit._

  
  


Stretching his arms over his head, the specter grunted. **“Well, that's that!”** he exclaimed, feeling lighter than ever.

The other three ghosts hummed in agreement as they gazed into the azure flames.

  
  


For a long time, no one spoke.

  
  


“You know, we've all been working _really_ hard,” Zacharias suddenly pointed out. “I've been making potions non-stop, Julio's been working on growing new plants, and Frederick and Snatcher-”

  
  


It _still_ felt odd for the former prince to hear himself be referred to as “Snatcher”.

  
  


“- have been working _constantly_ on this whole soul project that you've got going on.”

The miller suddenly turned and motioned in the direction of Subcon Village. “Heck, _everyone_ in the village has been working hard!”

Suspecting that they were cooking up something, the maned ghost raised a figurative eyebrow. **“Where are you going with this?”**

A huge grin appeared on Zacharias' faced as they directed their gaze to the other ghosts. “Well, why don't we- and everyone else- spend the rest of the day around a big fire? Just telling stories and having fun!”

The other three ghosts seriously contemplated the idea, for a brief moment.

“I don't see why not!” Julio replied.

“It sounds like fun!” Frederick joyfully commented.

The Snatcher's fanged smile stretched into a grin as he crossed his arms. **“Well, that settles it; let's tell the village they're getting the rest of the day off!”**

* * *

**“Allow me to regale you kids with one specific tale from my youth.”**

  
  


The village of Subcon sat around a bonfire set up in the back of the village, the villagers all relaxed and smiling as they enjoyed the unexpected early end to their work day. Everyone's hands were wrapped around a nice warm drink or some food- courtesy of the _ever-wonderful_ Ophelia- as the Snatcher told the children a story from his living days.

**“I was about your age, Alexis,”** he began, motioning to the fox-masked spirit nearby. **“Six years old, more or less. This was during the festival, so I was wandering around the village in search of something to do. Suddenly, I spotted something** _ **unusual**_ **on top of the roof of a nearby building.”**

Holding a hand to his chest, the specter grinned somewhat proudly as he continued. **“Now, being the _adventurous_ lad that I was, I climbed up onto the roof to see what was going on. There on the roof, with a board balanced on a rock and a tomato on one side of it, were Zacharias, Joseph, Anne, and- would you believe it?- **_**Gwendolyn.”**_

Gwendolyn glanced away, embarrassment written on her face despite the stoic look she tried to keep.

Joseph slouched down, _blatantly_ embarrassed by the memory he was now reliving.

Zacharias and Anne, on the other hand, gave each other a high-five and a knowing grin.

  
  


The Snatcher remembered that moment like it was yesterday; the memory was still so _vivid_ in his mind, it was almost like _he could reach out and touch it._

  
  


**“Zacharias had gotten the _bright_ idea to set up a board and launch fruit off of it, just to see how far it would go,”** the maned ghost recalled, pointing his talon-like thumb at the miller.

Leaning back, Zacharias put their hands behind their head as a proud grin stretched across their face.

**“Now, I told all of them that it wasn't a good idea, but _none_ of them listened to me,”** the maned ghost told the enthralled children. **“In fact, Zacharias shrugged and told me that 'it's fine! It's just some** _ **fruit!'**_ **And before I could stop them, they jumped down onto the board!”**

The masked children all leaned forward, their little tails wrapped around their own tiny cups and toys as they listened intently.

The Snatcher grinned widely as he narrowed his eyes, waving a hand from left to right in a sweeping gesture. **“That tomato _flew_ over a few buildings, **_**sailed**_ **across the flower vendor, _soared_ over the very center of the village-”**

He turned his head from left to right, gazing at the children as his glowing grin grew bigger and bigger. **“- and you will** _ **not**_ **believe where that tomato landed, kids.”**

He could sense their tiny voices eagerly asking questions.

  
  


_Where did it land?_

  
  


_Did it make a mess?_

  
  


_I'll bet it landed on someone's head!_

  
  


Amusement apparent on his glowing face, the Snatcher waited for the children to calm down before he continued. **“Well, kids, that rather mushy and** _ **remarkably**_ **large tomato _splattered-”_**

He suddenly slapped his clawed hands together. _**“- all over the top of the other king's head!”**_

  
  


All of the children collectively gasped, some of the more mischievous ones- like Chris- giggling, while others- like Susan- turned their heads to look at Zacharias in complete shock.

The miller had the smuggest, _proudest_ look on their face as they placed their hands behind their head.

Meanwhile, Gwendolyn held her forehead, doing everything she could to avoid eye contact with literally _anyone else._

  
  


Naturally, most of the adults were stunned when they heard that part of the story.

  
  


“You children did _what?”_ Ophelia gasped, glancing between Anne, Zacharias, Joseph, and Gwendolyn.

Joseph responded by making himself as small as he could. _“Zacharias_ dragged me along,” he mumbled.

While the miller shot the clockmaker a look, Gwendolyn muttered an embarrassed “Don't remind me...” as she glanced at the ground.

Anne smiled nervously at the baker and shrugged.

Francisca darted up into the air, staring right at Gwendolyn.

  
  


_Why would you do that!?_

  
  


_“Oh boy...”_ the mason muttered under her nonexistent breath.

**“Now, now, Francisca,”** the maned phantom said, hoping to calm down the child before she got too carried away, **“this was a** _ **very**_ **long time ago, back when Gwendolyn was more... well...”**

He trailed off, trying to find the right word to use. **“What's a good word... it's on the tip of my tongue...”**

“I know! Trouble-making!” Anne cried, raising her hand into the air.

Gwendolyn hid her face behind a hand.

That made the Snatcher frown. **“That is...** _ **not exactly**_ **the word I would have used,”** he faltered, **“but for the sake of the story, let's go with it.”**

Quickly recovering, the specter tapped his figurative chin. **“Now where was I...? Ah, that's right; so, that large tomato** _ **splattered**_ **all over the other king's head. It got all over his hair, clothes,** _ **everywhere!"**_

Sheepishly, he rubbed his head as he glanced down at the little ones. **“Every kid involved- myself, included- thought we were** ** _dead._ ****After all, we- and by 'we' I mean** _ **Zacharias-”**_ ****

_“Guilty!”_ Zacharias admitted in a sing-song voice as they returned to grinning smugly, which earned the miller a stern, motherly glare from Ophelia.

**“- just launched a tomato _right onto his head!”_**

Gradually, the former prince clasped his hands together. **“The king turned around, looked up, stared us all** _ **directly**_ **in the eye, and said something that I will** _ **never**_ **forget.”**

Anthony perked up, an unspoken question emanating from him.

  
  


_What did the king say?_

  
  


**“He said-”** Snatcher cleared his ghostly throat. **“'Try angling it fifteen degrees higher, and you** _ **might**_ **hit the head chef over by the stalls!'”**

The children started laughing, the phantom of Subcon Forest quickly joining. The adults that _hadn't_ been involved in the incident glanced at each other in surprise.

“Then the king joined us on the roof and helped us adjust the board!” Anne revealed to everyone.

Every adult- save Zacharias, Gwendolyn, Joseph, and the prince- stared at Anne, shocked and in utter disbelief.

“I didn't know he did that,” Clarissa murmured to Selene. The carpenter shook her head and shrugged.

“I didn't take him for the type,” Horace commented.

Frederick merely held his chin, while Raymond chuckled a bit. “His Majesty, helping a bunch of children throw fruit at people-”

 _“Launch_ fruit, Raymond,” Frederick corrected.

“Oh, same difference!” Raymond replied, dismissively waving a hand.

All of the children, meanwhile, had _very_ mixed reactions.

  
  


_Why would he help throw fruit at people?_

  
  


_That's so cool... A king helping throw fruit at people!_

  
  


Launch _it; there's a difference!_

  
  


_That's not very nice..._

  
  


_Coolest. King. Ever!_

  
  


**“All right, calm down, kids,”** the Snatcher instructed, motioning for the children to settle down. **“The story doesn't end there!”**

Instantly, the masked eyes of the children were back on the forest's ruler. Susan immediately asked a wordless question, curiosity bubbling inside of her.

  
  


_What happened next?_

  
  


Smiling at the child, the maned specter clasped his hands together and resumed the tale.

**“So, the king helped us adjust the board, and _Gwendolyn-”_**

The mason looked away, her mouth a thin line.

**“- did the honors of launching a tomato. The fruit smashed _right_ into the back of the poor chef's head!”**

All of the children started laughing, their spectral bodies shaking with amusement.

**“Now, _this time,_ ”** the former prince said, raising a talon-like finger into the air as he spoke, **“we all had the common sense to** _ **hide**_ **before they saw us. Oh, the other kids were all _struggling_ to hold in their laughter; even the **_**king**_ **was having trouble not snickering from the act! As for myself...”**

He held a clawed hand against his chest. **“I was utterly** _ **horrified,**_ **and scared that we would all get caught. Then, just as I turned around to leave so I wouldn't be accused of helping the others with their fruit catapulting...”**

Pausing for dramatic effect, the specter leaned down towards the little ones.

  
  


**“I saw the _former queen,_ standing _right behind us.”_**

  
  


Everyone around the bonfire leaned towards the specter, listening _closely_ to the story with _great_ interest. Even the _adults_ were intrigued by the tale!

Joseph rubbed the back of his head. If he still had a body, his face would have undoubtedly be red from embarrassment.

Gwendolyn crossed her arms, still as stoic as ever, but now rubbing her head where her ear once would have been.

Zacharias merely watched through half-lidded eyes as they leaned against one of the tree-stump homes, their smug grin still on their ghostly face.

Anne, on the other hand, balled her spectral hands into fists as she energetically grinned.

“I remember that!” she exclaimed, momentarily drawing everyone's attention. “She had her arms crossed, and her face was all _serious_ and stuff. The king looked _really_ embarrassed!”

“That was the second time, that day, that we all thought we were dead,” was Gwendolyn's mumbled addition.

The Snatcher nodded at Gwendolyn. **“We did, we did...”** he agreed, crossing his arms slightly.

Julia tilted her masked head.

  
  


_Did you get in trouble?_

  
  


The grin on the inky ghost's face grew larger as he glanced down at the child.

**“Well, the queen knelt down to our level, looked all of us _straight_ in the eye, and with the most _serious_ tone of voice I had _ever_ heard in my life...”**

The ghostly prince pointed in a random direction. **“She pointed at the window of a nearby house and said, 'See if you can get the head maid, while you're at it.'”**

  
  


The entire village _burst_ into laughter, the large guffaw echoing through the nearby trees. The children shook violently, some tumbling onto the ground as they silently laughed at the tale, while even the quieter adults like Aureola giggled at the story. Even the adults who were shocked by such behavior ended up joining in, giggling and chortling along with the rest of the ghosts. But the loudest of them all was the Snatcher, who **roared** with laughter as tears filled his yellow eyes.

  
  


The whole guffaw lasted for a good minute or two, before everyone _finally_ calmed down.

  
  


Wiping an amused tear from his eye, the former prince of Subcon Forest sighed as he straightened himself back up. **“No one else** _ **ever**_ **found out about what we did, that day. Until now, that is.”**

Suddenly, he wagged a finger at the children. **“Now, don't take this story as an invitation to catapult fruit everywhere, children,”** he instructed in a slightly joking tone. **“We don't want to make a mess of the village.”**

The maned ghost soon sensed a loud _“We won't!”_ coming from the little ones.

Julio shook his head slightly, chuckling quietly. “The king and queen- _her_ parents, I mean- were certainly something else!”

**“They certainly were,”** the Snatcher agreed, lowering his head to gaze at the ground. His smile faded ever so slightly as he remembered his youth. His parents, _her_ parents...

  
  


The other king and queen were always the more _mischievous_ royals of Subcon. The former prince's own parents were _rarely_ amused by the other nobles' antics; something that was startling, given that his mother and father were always goodhearted and cheerful. Nonetheless, the royal couples still managed to get along splendidly.

  
  


**“Those were the days...”**

  
  


The mood of the other adults fell as they wistfully recalled their living days. Even some of the children's heads- like Penelope's- drooped down as they thought back to when they were alive.

Shaking his head, the Snatcher focused back on the present. **“As you could probably tell from that story, the other king and queen enjoyed the** _ **occasional**_ **bout of mischief.”**

He could sense a joyful air coming from Chris, after he said that. Almost a second later, the child exclaimed something in slight disappointment.

  
  


_Aw, man! If I knew they liked to do pranks, I could have planned so many with them!_

  
  


That pulled the specter's attention away from his somber thoughts. His smile returning, the maned ghost raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

**“Oh, I am positive they would have loved planning pranks with _all_ of the _mischievous children_ in our village!”**

Jokingly, he stared at the well-known pranksters of Subcon Village, _especially_ Chris. As the prank-loving children all innocently shrugged the best they could with their tails, the other adults quickly cheered up.

With the joyful mood returning, the Snatcher grinned as he rubbed his clawed hands together. **“Now, how about another story? I think there's time for one more!”**

His senses were practically overwhelmed by the amount of children silently screaming _“Yeah!”_

**“Okay, this next one happened after I had _just_ gotten Rough Patch!”**

* * *

Late in the night, the Snatcher was nestled in the armchair in his tree home. Once the bonfire had gone out, the villagers had all carried the sleepy children off to bed, before heading home to get some sleep, themselves. The maned ghost was no exception; he felt ready to pass out once he sat down in the plush seat. His eyes and mouth now thin yellow lines, he allowed his mind to relax as exhaustion took hold of him, pulling him slowly away into a gentle sleep...

  
  


_One of the children-_ Penelope _was outside._

  
  


Stirring awake, the specter opened his glowing eyes, squinting at the entrance to his home. He soon saw Penelope's mask peering at him from the opening in the front of the massive tree.

  
  


_They were upset._

  
  


The light of the glowing mushrooms revealed something glistening in the eyes of the child's mask.

  
  


Normally, he would _rush right over_ to any child that was crying. Some children, however- like little Penelope- were quite timid, or would shy away if someone tried to approach.

Which is why he stayed in his chair.

  
  


**“Penelope, what's wrong?”** he quietly asked, concern etched onto his face.

Meekly, the masked spirit gazed at the much taller specter, tears gathering more in their mask's eyes.

**“Come here, kiddo,”** he said, beckoning with a hand.

It took them a few seconds, but eventually, the little one mustered up enough courage to inch their way forwards into the home. They stopped a few feet away from the ghost, second-guessing their decision.

  
  


Baby steps.

  
  


**“It's okay, Penelope,”** the Snatcher reassured the child, **“what's troubling you?”**

After another few seconds, Penelope moved closer to him, lowering their masked head towards the ground.

  
  


_I miss Momma..._

  
  


The maned ghost _froze_ at that.

Wordlessly, he held out a hand to the child.

Understanding what the gesture meant, the masked spirit slowly floated up to him and nuzzled against his maned chest. As the child trembled and tears streamed down their mask, the specter lifted his hand back up and placed it gently on the little one's head.

  
  


_Momma's been gone a long time, but I still miss her a lot...!_

  
  


His nonexistent heart _ached._

  
  


**“It's okay,”** the Snatcher murmured, gently stroking the tiny spirit's head. **“It's okay that you still miss her.”**

Leaning back in his chair, the ghostly prince gently held the child against his chest. **“Sometimes, I miss my own mother, too,”** he revealed to the child.

Penelope lifted their tiny head up to gaze up at him.

  
  


_You do...?_

  
  


He somberly nodded. **“I do. I miss her and my father** _ **so much,**_ **sometimes. It can be** _ **really**_ **hard to deal with that kind of pain.”**

Penelope pondered on that for a little bit. Eventually, he sensed a new question coming from the child.

  
  


_How do you make the pain go away...?_

  
  


He frowned at that question, sadness filling his yellow eyes as he gazed down at the child. **“Penelope,”** he began, **“this kind of pain isn't something that you can** _ **make**_ **go away... It...”**  
  
He glanced away, his figurative brow furrowing as he deliberated what to say. All the while, Penelope stared up at him, tears still running down their masked face.

  
  


How was he supposed to _explain_ this to them...?

_… Maybe..._

  
  


**“This kind of pain... it can happen sometimes, when you least expect it,”** he told the child, his expression kind- yet solemn. **“It is like... Do you remember how Maurice used to complain about their leg hurting, every once in a rare while?”**

Slowly, the masked spirit nodded.

**“Well, it's kind of like that,”** he explained. **“It happens randomly, but as time goes on, the pain grows less and less, until it's nothing more than a dull ache.”**

He managed a small smile as he carefully wiped the tears from the child's mask. **“Every so often, you'll miss your mother, as I will mine,”** the specter informed Penelope, **“and it's okay to miss her. But in a way, she'll** _ **always**_ **be with you, no matter** _ **where**_ **you go. You'll still have the happier memories of your mother, kiddo, just like I'll have the happier memories of mine.”**

Patting their head, the Snatcher watched Penelope's shaking lessen. **“And do you want to know something else?”**

With their sadness fading ever so slightly, the masked spirit's attention focused solely on the maned ghost.

  
  


_What...?_

  
  


Grinning slightly, the ghost gently poked the middle of the child's masked. Almost immediately, the child perked up in surprise.

**“We're all here for you. You'll _always_ have us around, no matter if it's for a good laugh, or to have someone to cry to. And hey-”**

He placed his free hand against his chest, his grin shifting into a small smile.

**“- _I'll_ always be around, too! So if you _ever_ feel like talking, or you start missing your mother again, you can _always_ talk to me.”**

Penelope took some time to think about what he said.

  
  


_Always...?_

  
  


With half-lidded, tired- yet kind- eyes, the Snatcher looked the little one directly in the eye and nodded resolutely.

  
  


**_“Always.”_ **

  
  


… The child's eyes welled up with tears, once more. The maned specter's expression softened, his smile vanishing as worry consumed his features.

  
  


_I-I still miss Momma... I-I'm sorry, Your Highness..._

  
  


… Oh, his chest **ached.** But he figured the child would still feel sorrow, even after talking to them.

  
  


_Grief did not go away so easily, after all._

  
  


**“No, it's okay, Penelope,”** he told the child. **“It's okay if you're still feeling sad. Sadness doesn't easily go away, and even if it feels** _ **bad,**_ **letting all of that sadness out is** _ **much**_ **better than trying to hide it.”**

Penelope could only stare up at him, their trembling resuming as fresh new tears streamed from the eyes of their mask.

  
  


_From what he was sensing from the child, it felt like they were waiting for some kind of go-ahead to let out their feelings._

  
  


A somber expression mingled with concern on the Snatcher's darkened face as his gaze focused on the little one.

  
  


**“It's okay to cry, Penelope. _It's okay to cry.”_**

  
  


The dam burst; in seconds, little Penelope's serpentine being shuddered as they bawled _louder_ than the ghostly prince had _ever_ heard them cry, before. Not a loud cry, in general, but loud compared to how _quiet_ the child normally was.

  
  


_It hurt. It_ **hurt** to hear them cry like this. He wished they didn't have to, but he **knew** _they needed to cry,_ **even if it was** _**torture**_ **to hear the child so** _ **distraught.**_

  
  


He frowned _deeply_ as the child grieved.

  
  


_I- I miss Momma! I miss her- I miss her songs, a-and her jokes, and I- and I miss the- I miss the pumpkin soup she made...!_

  
  


The child seemed to hiccup, before they buried their face in the phantom's mane. All that the Snatcher could do was close his eyes, hold the quivering child against his chest, and pet their head. His face contorted _ever so slightly_ as pain and sorrow settled onto his glowing features, the moment he was _certain_ the child's vision was obscured by the flowing mane.

The sudden, muffled, _heart-wrenching wail_ that Penelope emitted made the former prince's eyes snap wide open. _Agonizing grief_ **warped** his face as the sound **stabbed into his spectral chest like a sharpened broadsword.** He couldn't stop the tears that filled his eyes as the child's pain _**resonated**_ through his ghostly form.

  
  


A _myriad_ of emotions consumed his being.

  
  


No matter how much he _knew_ the child needed to cry, his very soul **screamed** at him to shush the child, to stop the tears, to do **anything** to make sobbing subside, _**anything**_ to help them feel better!

  
  


_Each sob felt like he was being_ **stabbed** _right through his nonexistent heart; the pain grew worse and_ **worse,** _**ceaselessly tormenting** the maned ghost._

_He knew how that pain felt. His own mother was missing- most likely_ **dead,** _by this point._

  
  


Cascades of tears streamed down his inky face, matching the amount of tears shed by Penelope. Unable to control himself, the Snatcher shook ever so slightly as he held the child tightly- but carefully- against his chest.

  
  


After all of this time, this child _still_ suffered from the loss of their mother...

  
  


**Something** _**broke**_ **inside of him; something** _**snapped, cracked, split apart.**_

  
  


Forcing his eyes open, the inky ghost **glared** in the direction of the manor, rage slowly gaining control over him.

  
  


This was all _Vanessa's_ fault. _She_ **killed** _this **child,**_ **killed** _their **family,**_ **killed** _the **entire kingdom** **in her possessive fury-**_

  
  


His eyes grew smaller, an infuriated scowl growing greater upon his face.

  
  


_**He hated Vanessa.** _

__

_**He despised her.** _

**He wanted to** _**tear her apart.**_

**He wanted to make that witch** _**pay**_ **for every** _**horrific,** **unspeakable**_ **act she perpetrated against** _**his people!**_

_**HIS FAMILY!** _

_**HOW DARE SHE HURT HIS FAMILY!?** _

  
  


He nearly flew up from his chair, ready to _rush to the manor and_ **tear the ice witch** _ **limb from limb.**_

  
  


_**HE'LL MAKE HER PAY! HE'LL KILL THAT WITCH-** _

  
_M-Momma...!_

Penelope let out a muffled whine, their serpentine body trembling and shuddering violently.

  
  


_**…** _

  
  


The unbridled fury left his face. His tense body slowly relaxed as his anger vanished. Sorrow engulfed his glowing features as his shoulders drooped, his gaze falling to the little one that wept against him.

Wiping his own tears away, his expression grew calm as he lowered his head, laying it on top of Penelope's.

  
  


He **despised** Vanessa, but he would **never** let his unbridled fury of the **witch** become more important than the well-being of _**his kids.**_

He didn't know when they stopped crying. All that he did know was that, at some point, he had started humming softly to the child when they had calmed down enough. Though his voice was distorted, he still kept a tune perfectly well as he stroked the child's masked head. The combination of music and petting soothed the exhausted Penelope, lulling them to sleep in minutes.

He didn't stop the lullaby.

He didn't move, save to pat the child's head, and to carefully drape a small blanket over them that he had summoned up the second he realized the little one had slipped off into slumber. Once it had been placed over the child, the Snatcher carefully readjusted the child so they would be more comfortable, before lowering his head back on top of the little one's.

He didn't stop humming, even as it gradually slowed down.

He felt _tired._

He closed his eyes.

He felt exhaustion dragging him deeper and _deeper_ into slumber.

Slowly but surely, his consciousness drifted away...

* * *

_Unfamiliar souls were in the forest..._

**The clock chimed midnight.**

The Snatcher jolted awake, his glowing eyes snapping _wide open._ As he suddenly became aware of his surroundings, he glanced down and thanked his lucky stars that he still had a hold on the slightly jostled Penelope, who had let out a silent yelp of surprise upon being so abruptly woken up.

**“Oh, Penelope, I'm sorry-”**

  
  


He cut himself off as he realized something.

  
  


Normally, he couldn't sense _any_ souls while he was asleep; the fact that his unusual power kicked in _while_ he was asleep was **not** a good sign-

  
  


_A_ **massive** _amount of souls just entered the forest._

**They kept coming, and** _**coming...**_

  
  


Fear immediately struck him like a bolt of lightning as he figured out what was going on.

  
  


_**A massive army had entered Subcon Forest.** _


	19. The Battle for Subcon Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected conflict requires quick thinking and the nerve to make difficult decisions.

_**“TO ARMS!”** _

  
  


_The silence of Subcon Forest's eternal night was shattered with a single, booming_ **call to arms.**

  
  


_**“TO ARMS!”**_ the Snatcher roared, bolting all through Subcon Village with the now-frightened Penelope still held close against his chest.

  
  


Each urgent yell startled the inhabitants of the tree-stump homes awake, prompting the adults to dart out of their homes to get their weapons and gather up the children. In mere minutes, everyone was outside and grouped together, the children all whispering to one another as Ophelia, Joseph, Maurice, William, and Aureola ushered them into a large group.

Flying right over to the baker, the forest's ruler carefully handed Penelope off to Ophelia, the child still wrapped up in the blanket he had summoned for them, just hours before.

**“Get the children to the well,”** he instructed, speaking in a low tone. **“If anything happens- and I mean _anything,_ _get the children out of the forest._ To the mountains, preferably, but if you can't get there safely, take them _anywhere else that's safe._ I don't care where you go, just as long as it's _safe._ Do you understand?”**

Trembling ever so slightly, Ophelia nodded. “I understand, Your H- _Snatcher,”_ she quickly corrected herself.

Diana rushed through, toting various weapons along with them. “Joseph!” they called, tossing a sheathed blade over to Joseph. “Take this; you might need it.”

Yelping slightly, the former stable hand fumbled with the sheathed sword before finally taking a firm hold of it by the sheathe. “Thanks, Diana,” he nervously said, gulping as he stared at the blade.

Patting the clockmaker's shoulder, the blacksmith nodded firmly, their gaze solemn yet fierce. They handed more of the weapons off to Maurice, Ophelia, and William.

The Snatcher's glowing gaze moved between Ophelia, Joseph, Maurice, and William. **“I'm counting on _all of you_ to keep the children safe; do you understand me?”**

Ophelia, Joseph, William, and Maurice nodded.

Aureola, on the other hand, glanced at Diana, who was frowning as they glanced at their now-empty hands.

“I'm sorry, Aureola,” the blacksmith apologized, “you're a tough cookie to figure out what kind of weapon's best for you. In all of my years of forging weapons, I've _never_ had as much trouble figuring out what weapon to forge for someone.”

A hint of a smile appeared on the milliner's face as they produced a hatpin.

“Ah.” Diana nodded, understanding immediately. “That'll do.”

As the blacksmith flew away to get their own weapon, the Snatcher turned his focus to Aureola. **“I'm trusting you to-”**

“I'm fighting with you,” they suddenly interrupted, their expression calm as could be as they stared the maned ghost in the eye.

The phantom blinked. **“Aureola, are you sure that you-”**

“I'm fighting with you,” they firmly insisted, their tone quiet, but with determination hidden within.

Surprised by the milliner's sudden resolve, the ghostly prince smiled gently. **“Thank you, Aureola.”**

He turned to the other four ghosts. **“Take the children to the well. Now!”**

Immediately, the four ghosts herded the little ones together, rushing them off towards the Subcon Well.

As the four ghosts and all of the children fled for the swamp, he saw Penelope peer over Ophelia's shoulder.

  
  


_He sensed the fear that emanated from the child._

**He heard them crying out to him.**

  
  


_Sn-Snatcher!?_

  
  


_**He had to be strong. For them.** _

  
  


Hiding his worry, the Snatcher smiled at the little one.

**“Everything will be okay, kids!”** he called after the group, watching them all fly for the well.

The large group grew further and further away, until he could no longer see them through the trees.

  
  


His smile faltered.

  
  


**“Everything will be okay...”**

* * *

**“We need a plan.”**

  
  


The remaining adults of the village and their ghostly prince had congregated in front of the chasm that split off the village from Frederick's laboratory. The only two _not_ there were Diana and Gwendolyn, who had been sent out to size up the army that the ghostly inhabitants of Subcon would soon combat. Diana had distributed weapons to the ghosts that had none, with a small statement that the weapons were “only temporary” until the blacksmith could forge proper ones for them.

The maned specter of Subcon Forest held his nonexistent chin, his glowing eyes narrowing as he contemplated their current situation.

  
  


He couldn't tell how many souls were coming; there were _so many,_ it would take him _at least_ five minutes to count them all.

  
  


“Coming to invade at such an hour,” Raymond spoke up, “they must have hoped to arrive undetected, and overrun the village while we were sleeping!”

**“Indeed...”** agreed the ghostly prince, his yellow eyes directed towards Frederick's tower. Instantly, the specter clenched his fists, a deep scowl of frustration forming upon his darkened face. **“I should have _known_ he would be planning something like this...!”**

Floating over to him, Julio gently placed a comforting hand on the prince's shoulder. “You couldn't have foreseen something on _this_ scale,” consoled the gardener. “He was sending less and less of his people into the forest; we _all_ thought he was giving up.”

Shaking his head, the Snatcher gently pulled away from the gardener. Concern knitted on his face, Julio could only watch as the ruler of the forest floated to the chasm, stopping just feet away from the edge.

 **“I should have prepared for this,”** the inky ghost solemnly said, regret lacing his tone. **“No matter what we thought, I should have _prepared,_ just in case _this happened.”_**

This time, it was Raymond's turn to place a hand on the prince's shoulder.

“Perhaps you should have,” the schoolteacher acknowledged, “but it was a _mistake._ A simple mistake. Learn from it.”

They suddenly paused. “Although, right now, it's best to focus on the present.”

  
  


Sighing, the specter nodded, his mane flowing about as he glanced at Raymond. **“You are right,”** the prince realized, turning back to his people. **“The tyrant's forces are here, now. We need to focus on that, first and foremost.”**

  
  


_Diana and Gwendolyn were back._

  
  


Turning around, the forest's ruler soon spotted the pair emerging from the trees. One look at Gwendolyn's unusually somber face and Diana's serious gaze was all it took for the specter to understand the severity of the situation.

**“How many were there?”** he asked, doing his best to appear as calm as could be.

_“At least_ five hundred,” Diana told him in a grim tone of voice.

At that, the Snatcher floated to the side, one hand behind his back while the other stroked his mane. **“A battaile...”** he murmured, **“That's... not as bad as I _thought_ it would be...”**

Gwendolyn flew over to the specters side, taking hold of his shoulder before he got too far into his thoughts.

“There's more,” she informed him, her steely gaze locked onto the former prince's yellow eyes. “I counted twenty sorcerers among their ranks.”

The Snatcher stared back at Gwendolyn, his eyes growing larger as he realized what this meant.

  
  


**Shady's intentions were to _capture them all._**

  
  


Without missing a beat, the ruler of the forest turned to his people, his horrified expression shifting to one filled to the brim with _determination._

 **“Our priority is _to keep the children safe,”_** the phantom declared, both arms now behind his back. **“Under _no circumstances_ will we allow a _single_ soldier or sorcerer to get _anywhere near the well._ Do you understand?”**

_“Yes, Sir!”_

  
  


_He had feared a day like this would come._

_**Time to put hours of reading about military tactics to good use.** _

  
  


**“Diana, Gwendolyn, how was the battaile organized?”** the specter inquired.

“They're using dragoons,” Diana reported, “and they're all closely-knit. They're going to have to go through all of the trees, however, which means they'll be forced to either thin their lines and risk being separated, or split up to be able to go through the trees in a relatively similar formation to the one they're in, right now.”

“They don't have archers,” Gwendolyn added, “just soldiers with spears, swords, shields...”

The Snatcher didn't seem surprised by the news. **“They probably figure that since we're ghosts, they shouldn't bother with arrows,”** he ventured. **“Either that, or their sorcerers have some kind of magic to hit us from afar with.”**

“There's more,” the mason continued. “Shady is not with them.”

Humming in thought, Snatcher crossed his arms and floated up, holding his nonexistent chin with a hand.

  
  


_No one_ expected to hear the remark that came from the ghostly prince.

  
  


**“That's... _unusual...”_**

  
  


“How's _that_ unusual?” Zacharias asked, a figurative eyebrow raised in pure and utter confusion. “He hasn't shown up with _any_ of his troops- except for that one time, years ago.”

**“Yes,”** the specter acknowledged, **“but most of those troops were _smaller._ Their numbers weren't more than seventy-five, at most. To jump from that amount to at least _five hundred,_ and _not_ show up to lead his own troops...”**

  
  


The villagers turned to one another, murmuring their own thoughts and opinions.

  
  


“So he's a coward; nothing we don't already know!” Anne exclaimed.

**“He _is_ a coward,”** the phantom agreed, floating back down to his fellow ghosts, **“but he is _not_ ignorant. He's planning _something,_ but I'm not sure _what...”_**

“We don't have time to figure out what that jerk's got planned,” Clarissa pointed out, “the soldier's will be here any minute!”

“So, what's _our_ plan?” Horace asked.

  
  


All of the villagers turned to the prince, their eyes locking onto their ruler as they awaited his instruction.

The Snatcher lowered his gaze to the ground, his glowing eyes narrowing more and more in concentration. The gears in his spectral mind went into high-gear, whirring _violently_ as he considered their options.

  
  


No matter _what_ the tyrant had planned, the **most important thing** he needed to focus on, right now, was **_keeping the Cabinet Minister's forces away_ from the children,** before the ghosts could even _attempt_ to push the soldiers and sorcerers out of the forest.

  
  


**“We'll need to separate the sorcerers from the soldiers,”** the Snatcher stated, lifting his head to face his people, once more. **“If you can get the soldiers away from the sorcerers, I can get close enough to teleport them away. Then, once the last of those _horrible_ magicians are out of the forest, we'll be able to directly engage the enemy.”**

He held up a talon-like finger. **“First, we need a way to scatter the soldiers; some way to incite panic.”**

  
  


“How are we supposed to do that?” Selene asked, motioning to behind Frederick's tower. “They're so close together, and with the sorcerers with them, we won't be able to _get_ close enough to make the soldiers scatter!”

"What about the potions?" Raymond asked. "Surely we still have some left!"

Frederick shook his head, holding his ghostly chin. "We _do_ have potions," the scientist mentioned, "but not enough to deal with an _entire battaile."_

"Actually," Zacharias jumped in, "I _may_ have spent most of the past few nights making potions while you were asleep."

Everyone _stared_ at the miller.

  
  


"How many?" Frederick inquired.

The miller shrugged. "A few hundred, more or less."

The Snatcher's figurative jaw dropped, his glowing mouth wide with surprise. He was completely _baffled_ by how the miller could have made _a few hundred potions_ without _anyone_ noticing.

Without warning, Zacharias snapped their fingers. “Hey, we also have cherry bombs!” they soon cried, their grin stretching clear across their face. “We can use them to scatter the soldiers, too!”

The specter's open, gaping maw shifted into a huge, fanged grin as pat the miller on their back.

**“Wonderful idea, Zacharias!”** he praised, before he remembered something else. **“I think there's also some traps still around the forest's entrances. We can use those to further thin the enemy's numbers.”**

Frederick suddenly held his chin. “I'll need help carrying the potions...” he realized.

“I've got you!” Raymond exclaimed, patting their fellow schoolteacher's back.

“Wait, I'll help!” Zacharias volunteered.

“Me too!” Anne yelled, raising her hand into the air.

Julio chuckled heartily. “I'll make sure they don't break anything,” the gardener joked.

Clarissa punched the palm of her hand with her fist. “Guess that means I'm picking cherry bombs,” was what she took from the conversation.

“Me too,” Gwendolyn joined in.

Selene raised her hand. “Don't forget about me!” the carpenter exclaimed.

“Remember the days when we used to pick fruit, Diana?” Horace asked the blacksmith. “We'd have contests to see who could pluck the most in a minute!”

“I do,” Diana confirmed, before pointing at the tailor with a grin on their face. “And if I'm remembering things right, I'd wipe the floor with you, every time.”

Horace smirked, a gleam in his eye. “We'll see about that, this time.”

Snapping his fingers, the prince of the forest summoned up a map.

  
  


_He could sense the battaile drawing ever closer; still far away, but clearly showing **no signs of stopping.**_

  
  


**“We need to act quickly. Take the potions and the cherry bombs up to the tree houses in these areas,”** he commanded, motioning to the parts of Subcon between Frederick's laboratory and the forest's entrances, as well as the area near the farms Julio had set up. **“I'll explain the rest of the plan to everyone once we have the potions and cherries in the lookouts.”**

“On it, boss!” Zacharias saluted the ghost, before darting off to the laboratory.

While the other ghosts rushed off to gather potions and cherry bombs, the Snatcher couldn't help but grin slightly at what the miller said.

**Boss...**

  
  


_Aureola was still here?_

  
  


Blinking slightly, the specter turned to gaze at the milliner, confusion plain on his glowing, jack-o-lantern face.

**“Aureola, you're still here?”**

The hat-maker- who had been looking over the map that was floating in mid-air- turned around to the specter and nodded.

Curiosity piqued, he floated to their side. **“What is it?”** the inquisitive prince asked. **“Is there something wrong?”**

One look from Aureola, and the maned ghost understood _exactly_ what it was they needed.

**“The battaile came from here-”** He pointed to one of the forest's entrances with a talon-like finger. Mindful of the map, the inky phantom tentatively dragged the digit towards the village, before stopping quite a distance away from it. **“- and this is where they are, right now,”** he finished saying.

The hat-maker frowned slightly, their ghostly brow furrowing just a bit as they placed a finger against their mouth.

The Snatcher frowned, as well. **“I'm missing something, aren't I?”**

The milliner nodded, motioning to the marked areas of the map where the nearest traps to the soldiers were.

Raising a questioning, figurative eyebrow, he gazed down at Aureola as they looked straight up at him.

**“What about the traps?”** he asked, **“Don't tell me they're gone... are they?”**

He felt _immense relief_ when Aureola shook their head.

**“Then what's the problem?”**

Staring him straight in the eye, Aureola said something that was not only an explanation and statement, but a proffer of the milliner's assistance.

  
  


“You need bait.”

* * *

The silence of Subcon Forest was shattered as lines of soldiers marched through the forest. Their weapons gleamed, reflecting the light of the eternal moon that hung high in the sky. Speckled throughout the lines of the battaile were sorcerers, each one surrounded by countless dragoons as they held their tomes and performed magic to form the barriers that surrounded them all. The sound of bottles clinking in the bags of a few of the magicians intermingled with the steady stomping of the soldier's march.

  
  


Somewhere nearby, the sound of a twig snapping broke the rhythm of the march.

  
  


“Halt!” one of the more heavily-armored of their forces ordered.

The soldiers halted their march, turning about to peer further into the trees. The soldier who had given the command squinted in the direction the noise had come from.

One of the sorcerers moved towards the soldier. “What is it, Earl Quin?” the magician asked.

Earl Quin held up a hand to silence the sorcerer. The armored man glared at the treeline in complete silence, focused only on locating the source of the noise.

  
  


In the pale moonlight that streamed through the mostly bare branches of the trees, the earl's keen eyes spotted a figure peering out from behind one of the dismal trunks. Red hair covered their brow like curtains that had been tied back to allow sunlight through a window, and rounded out at the ends a few inches past their shoulders. They stared at the soldiers, their celestial blue eyes wide like a deer cornered by a predator. A pallid hand rested against the trunk of the tree the person hid behind, white as a sheet and practically glowing, compared to the colorful bark.

The dark green sundress they wore gently swayed in the slight breeze that flowed through the forest, the ends of a bow peeking out from behind the ribbon around their waist, every now and then. They shifted slightly as the flat green shoes they wore started sliding down the small roots they were standing upon, before they moved further behind the trunk in an attempt to hide.

  
  


The earl's eyes revealed the hidden scowl he wore.

“It _looks_ like a regular person,” Quin remarked, “but do not be fooled; that is a _ghost.”_

With a wave of his hand, the earl motioned to the vanguard.

  
  


_“Seize them.”_

  
  


In the same moment he uttered those words, the stranger turned and bolted, running through the trees at a feverish pace. Without hesitation, soldiers from the front of one line rushed after them, the metal of their armor clanging as the infantry gave chase.

Turning to the sorcerer next to him, the earl pointed at the charging soldiers. “Go after them, and capture that ghost,” he commanded.

Nodding to their superior, the sorcerer ran after the soldiers, their cloak flowing behind them as they vanished into the treeline.

Earl Quin turned to the rest of his men and gave his next order.

“Continue the march to the village; we wait for _no soldier.”_

  
  


The strange person ran, glancing back behind themselves as they darted between the trees. With the thick, large trees growing so close together, the unarmored stranger had a _clear_ advantage over the invading forces, both in speed and in their ability to slip through small gaps between the tree trunks. Nonetheless, the soldiers managed to follow easily, their boots trudging up dirt as they pursued the soon-to-be prisoner.

The person stumbled over a branch, nearly tripping down onto the ground. Their only saving grace was their immediate response to place a hand on the ground and push themselves back upright, just in time to dodge a soldier's hand that attempted to grab them. Terror prominent on their sheet-white face, the poor individual dashed off once more, the ends of the bow fluttering in the wind as the chase progressed. Further and further away the soldiers were led from their allies, their only focus on doggedly chasing their target.

“Keep going!” the sorcerer ordered. “Don't stop; we can't have them alerting the other ghosts!”

Picking up the pace, the poor victim of the soldiers' harassment rushed here and there, creating more and more distance between the soldiers and themselves as they bolted through a small opening between the trees.

The soldiers and the sorcerer kept going, despite their target getting further and further away from them.

“We're _losing_ them!” the sorcerer seethed. _“Hurry up!”_

Grunting in annoyance, the soldiers forced themselves to go faster and faster.

The strange individual that they were pursuing, on the other hand, started slowing down, wheezing quietly as they reached the end of the opening. For a brief second, they turned their head to look over their shoulder at the soldiers, fear filling their eyes.

Suddenly, they tripped over a root, a soft gasp escaping them as they fell over.

Underneath their hood, the sorcerer grinned. “We've got them!”

As the soldiers descended upon them, the pale person gazed up at the troops, their eyes wide as saucers as they could do nothing but watch the armored enemies approach.

  
  


**Snap!**

  
  


Without any warning, the vanguard and the sorcerer found themselves wrapped up in sacks and _flung_ up into the air, the thick cloth of the traps holding their weight easily. Screams erupted from the troops and the magician as they hung in the air, disoriented, startled, and rather cramped.

“What's going on!?”

“I can't move!”

“Draw your swords and start cutting!”

“I can barely _move_ in this thing, let alone unsheathe a blade!”

From on the ground, the individual composed themselves, a small smile on their now-calm face as they shifted into their more ghostly form: a dark green serpentine body, with red hair and celestial blue eyes and mouth. They spent only a few seconds gazing up at the bags filled with the Cabinet Minister's forces, before they flew into the air and off into the trees.

* * *

Up in a few lookout points, the Snatcher and the villagers were preparing for an attack from above. Potions and cherry bombs were placed in the different tree houses; five in total. Each tree house was manned by two villagers, the inky ghost being at the front-most lookout with Julio and Diana.

The inky ghost could help but worriedly tap his talons against the wooden planks.

As much as he trusted Aureola, he couldn't help but be concerned. After all, they would be _baiting_ the soldiers, just to thin out the enemy's numbers-

  
  


_Aureola was back._

  
  


Turning his head to the right, the specter's concerned frown shifted into a grin as the hat-maker glided over, coming to a rest next to the forest's ruler.

**“Excellent work, Aureola!”** the Snatcher whispered.

Aureola smiled a bit, nodding to the maned ghost before they peered out from the platform. Following their lead, the ghostly prince surveyed the forest floor.

He could glimpse the gleaming armor of the rest of the soldiers emerging through the trees.

  
  


_Looks like he'd have to deal with the soldiers in the bags, later._

  
  


He pulled himself away from the edge of the tree house's platform Aureola following suit.

A single nod from the ruler was all that was needed for the villagers to start grabbing potions, while others moved for nearby ropes.

  
  


The Snatcher held up a hand.

Ceaseless in their march, the soldiers and sorcerers with them advanced further, Earl Quin leading the battaile.

Focusing hard, the ghostly prince waited patiently.

  
  


_He could sense them marching underneath the tree houses._

_Just a bit closer..._

  
  


The vanguard of the remaining lines marched further, their boots leave footprints in the soft dirt.

All of a sudden, Earl Quin glanced down at the ground beneath his feet.

He stopped in his tracks.

The ground had been recently disturbed, and in his peripherals, the earl spotted what looked like bits of exposed rope poking out of the earth.

“HALT!” Quin ordered, the lines of soldiers immediately coming to a full-stop.

  
  


The corners of the Snatcher's fanged mouth quirked up.

  
  


He signaled to the other villagers with a wave of his hand.

  
  


In seconds, the ropes in the earth snapped taut as walls of cloth rose up, snagging many soldiers and a few _unfortunate_ sorcerers as they rose into the air.

Earl Quin just _barely_ managed to jump back in time, avoiding the trap by _mere inches._

“Sorcerers, keep those barriers up!” the earl barked. “Soldiers, ready your weapons!”

At that command, the Snatcher glanced at the villagers and nodded, a wide, sly grin on his darkened face as he flew up into the air.

On cue, the villagers took hold of their potions and threw them down below.

  
  


**Utter chaos ensued below the tree houses.**

  
  


Explosions erupted as the potions hit the ground, purple smoke billowing up as the blasts knocked both soldiers and sorcerers alike around. The enemy's forces scrambled to avoid the exploding concoctions, ducking and dodging in all directions, their formations all in _shambles._

Meanwhile, up above the discord, the Snatcher darted about the hanging bags, snapping the ropes that kept the bags suspended in the air with a clawed hand and snatching up the bags with the other, until all of the burlap sacks were in his grasp. His grin massive, the ghostly prince held onto the sacks with both hands and flew towards a tree.

**“Get out of my forest-”** the phantom began, before phasing into the trunk of the tree.

* * *

Out in the desert, a village of the former desert kingdom stood empty. Not a single soul was in sight...

  
  


Without warning, a shadowy figure emerged from the ground, his jack-o-lantern face displaying a proud smirk and his narrowed eyes filled with joy as he hauled several sacks of screaming soldiers and sorcerers over his shoulder.

The moment he was fully out of the ground, the specter unceremoniously swung the sacks about, roaring as he finished stating his demand.

  
  


**“- and _STAY OUT!”_**

  
  


He let go of the sacks. The hapless soldiers and magicians inside of the bags yelled as they were flung into the air, and shouted in pain as they hit the ground.

Wiping his hands clean, the specter dove back into the ground, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

* * *

In mere seconds, the Snatcher popped back up in Subcon Forest, some distance away from where the soldiers and villagers were. He expected as much; those barriers that the sorcerers had up were _undoubtedly_ to keep him from teleporting underneath their feet.

Despite the slight hindrance, the spectral ruler's grin grew more and more as he darted up into the air and swiftly flew back to the tree houses, his glowing eyes wide with delight.

The enemy soldiers were all scattered, about, the potions that the ghostly residents were throwing _more_ than effective in not only keeping the soldiers within throwing-range, but also in keeping them disorganized.

  
  


“Snatcher!”

  
  


Whipping his head around, the maned ghost spotted Selene pointing below the house she and Clarissa were stationed upon.

  
  


He didn't even _need_ to look. He could _sense_ a single soul separated from the others, down below.

  
  


With a look on his face that clearly displayed his silent praise of the carpenter and woodcutter, the Snatcher dove down to the forest floor.

His eyes locked onto his target: a lone sorcerer that had fallen over in the chaos, **unguarded** and **vulnerable.**

The poor sorcerer glanced up. They only had a split-second to look at the inky mass gunning for them before gigantic, clawed fingers wrapped around them. Screams of _terror_ erupted from the magician as the specter swiftly rose up into the air, just out of the reach of the magical barriers the other sorcerers kept going.

**“Keep it up!”** the ghostly prince called to the villagers, before phasing right into another tree trunk with his catch.

The spectral villagers all cheered, tossing down more and more potions as the Snatcher soon returned, darting back over to the wooden lookouts.

  
  


Earl Quin gritted his teeth, _fuming_ at the disorganization.

“Band together around the sorcerers!” the earl ordered.

Snapping out of their disoriented, panicked states, the armored soldiers _immediately_ obeyed their leader's command. Each of the sorcerers were surrounded by the infantry and dragoons closest to them, forming tightly-knit circles.

  
  


Quick thinking, on their leader's part, but unfortunately for the desert's forces, the forest's ruler had predicted that that would be their response.

Normally, he would have no problem with swooping down to grab the magicians from the middle of their circle formations. However, what he had accounted for was the possibility that- even though he was _almost positive_ that he couldn't be captured in any kind of container meant for ghosts- one of the sorcerers down there _might_ have knowledge that he didn't about that matter, and very well could have found a way to _capture him._

If that was the case, trying to dive into the circles of soldiers- said soldiers being tall enough to obscure the view of the sorcerers they were protecting from the ground, and the innermost rings of soldiers holding shields over the mages- could mean that _he might fly blindly into a sorcerer that was expecting him with a well-prepared trap._ Not to mention that they _might_ know of ways to hurt **ghosts,** which would be _**just as bad**_ if he wasn't careful.

  
  


_He would need to make sure the magicians were separated and disoriented, before he could snatch them away._

  
  


**“Each lookout focus on one group,”** the Snatcher commanded. **“Separate the soldiers from the sorcerers!”**

“On it, boss!” Zacharias replied, giving the maned ghost a thumbs-up.

Rising up into the air, the inky specter flew about, his glowing gaze trained on the soldiers below. With precision and organized teamwork, the villagers focused on different groups, tossing potions down at the soldiers below to force them away from the magicians.

The bombardment of blue concoctions was _highly_ effective; no matter how hard they tried to avoid the potions, the circle formations of soldiers gradually fell apart as infantry and dragoons alike were thrown into the air or blasted back with each explosion. Eventually, one circle formation broke completely, the mages inside exposed and ready for the taking.

The shadowy phantom didn't hesitate for a second as he swooped down, snatching up the mages and phasing through another tree trunk.

Earl Quin could only watch and rage internally as his battaile was slowly- but surely- split apart, the formations of soldiers breaking up one by one as the flasks of explosive liquid rained down upon them. Some infantry- and even _dragoons-_ laid on the ground or against trees, dazed, injured, or unconscious from the blasts.

_“Get up,”_ the earl growled at his men, “stop laying about and defend the sorcerers _with your lives,_ or I'll see to it personally that each and every one of you are _imprisoned_ for the rest of your _pathetic lives!”_

At that, many of the soldiers rushed to get back onto their feet.

"And you-" Quin spun around to one of the sorcerers. "- have magic, so use it to stop them!"

"We can't!" the mage cried. "They're too high up, and even if they _weren't,_ we can't see where they're storing those flasks!"

Fury burning in his eyes, the leader of the soldiers turned his gaze up to the trees, just as the Snatcher returned from depositing the latest sorcerers he had grabbed in the desert.

The _infuriated glare_ the earl gave the specter was one filled with **pure hatred.**

_“Blasted ghosts-!”_

Just as his rant began, the earl was _abruptly_ cut off as a single potion **smashed** on the ground in front of him. Quin let out a startled yell as they flew onto their back and hit the dirt, a sharp “AUGH-!” erupting from him as pain _surged_ through his back.

  
  


From up above, Aureola peered down from the tree house's porch, a small smile on their face.

  
  


One by one, each group of soldiers broke apart as the villagers _endlessly_ bombarded them with potion after potion. All the while, the Snatcher circled the area above like a vulture would a carcass, and descended like a hawk hunting prey the moment _any_ sorcerer was unprotected, diving down to wrap his talon-like fingers around the magicians and spirit them away.

“Go back to the desert and stay there, you _swine!”_ Diana roared, chucking a potion down at the group they were designated to break up.

The potion in question hurtled towards one soldier, and struck them on their face plate. Instantly, the concoction blew up **right in their face,** sending them and the soldiers next to them flying back into more soldiers, causing a long line of soldiers to topple over like dominoes.

Diana grinned and laughed triumphantly, while Julio threw down another potion, sending the soldiers- and the sorcerers they were guarding- flying into the air.

“We got some more for you!” the blacksmith called to the prince.

**“Wonderful work!”** the inky specter extolled, darting down to the ground and grabbing the unfortunate magicians as they laid dazed upon the ground.

* * *

As he took the sorcerers to a different village in the desert, the Snatcher soon noticed something different about one of the mages that he had picked up: their cloaks were _slightly different_ from the others, and the bags they carried seemed _bigger_ and _heavier_ than the ones that most of the magicians were carrying.

  
  


The larger satchel was similar in size to the one that _Lewis_ had been carrying...

  
  


For about five seconds, he squinted at the screaming, squirming sorcerer in his clawed hand, before glancing at the other, less-equipped sorcerer, who matched their companion in the intensity of their flailing and shrieking.

With a flick of his wrists, he sent both of them skidding into the village, before the specter phased into the sand below himself.

* * *

The moment he returned to the tree houses, he immediately floated down to the platform Julio, Diana, and Aureola were on.

**“Some of the sorcerers are dressed differently than the rest,”** he informed them.

“Dressed differently?” Julio asked, throwing down another potion at a group of soldiers that Horace and Gwendolyn were working on thinning in the lookout, nearby.

Nodding, the Snatcher went into further detail. **“Different cloaks and bigger bags,”** he explained. **“Bags like the one that _Lewis_ had.”**

  
  


The other three ghosts _whipped their heads around_ to look at the maned prince.

  
  


“What are you thinking, Snatcher?” Diana inquired.

The prince shook his head and shrugged. **“It's just a guess, but I think not _all_ of the magicians down there are trained in capturing ghosts.”**

“So you're saying that the others are harmless to us?” Julio seriously inquired.

 **“It's _possible,”_** the ruler of Subcon Forest said, **“but it's also possible that they _aren't_ harmless to us. For now, keep breaking up the soldiers' formations so I can send their magicians back to the desert.”**

“Understood!” Diana exclaimed, arming themselves with another potion. Aureola and Julio soon followed suit.

“We've got another one!” Raymond suddenly called, waving their arms to get the prince's attention.

His grin returning, the Snatcher of Subcon Forest dove back down to get the latest mages _unfortunate_ enough to be separated from the soldiers tasked with guarding them.

* * *

The sound of tearing cloth preceded startled yells as a few soldiers fell from a cut in the burlap sack they were previously trapped in, landing on top of one another in a small pile.

Just above them, a sorcerer with a fancy cloak and a large, square bag with a flap was fortunate enough to have grabbed onto a torn end of the torn fabric, saving them from landing harshly on top of the soldiers. Their other hand was tightly wrapped around the hilt of a knife; the tool they had used to cut themselves free of the burlap trap.

Releasing their grip on the cloth, the sorcerer fell and landed on their feet, right on top of the pile of desert soldiers. The one right underneath him grunted, while the other two groaned from the added weight.

Silently, the mage jumped off of the pile of soldiers and tilted their hooded head back, gazing up at the burlap sacks that held the rest of the vanguard that they had gone with. After backing away and lining themselves up properly, the magician raised their knife in front of their hooded face.

One swift throw was all it took to slice _clean through_ the ropes holding up the other bags. Each one fell in a heap, the soldiers inside gradually pulling themselves free from their cloth prisons.

Once the soldiers were back on their feet, the sorcerer retrieved their knife and sheathed it, before turning to the sounds of combat in the distance.

“We need to return to the rest of the battaile!” one soldier yelled to the others.

“No,” the sorcerer calmly objected, their hand reaching into the bag at their side to pull out a map.

  
  


The soldiers glanced at one another, utterly perplexed.

  
  


“What do you mean, 'no'!?” was another soldier's outraged cry. They pointed off in the distance, towards the distance booms. “Do you not _hear_ that sound? The battaile needs our help!”

“Yes, they do,” agreed the mage, their hidden gaze focused on their map. “But going in directly from this angle won't do us any good.”

They turned around to the soldiers. “The ghosts _knew_ we were coming,” they informed the confused vanguard. “They probably had this all planned, waiting for when we would arrive, so they could take us out.”

Yet another soldier moved forward to address the mage.

“So what are we supposed to do?” the soldier inquired in a more level-headed tone.

In response, the magician held the map out for the soldiers, drawing out an invisible path with their finger around the swamp.

  
  


“We take the enemy by surprise.”

* * *

“Snatcher, we're running low on potions,” Gwendolyn urgently reported.

“As are we,” Diana announced.

“I think we used all of ours up,” Anne commented in a disappointed tone.

Frederick and Raymond floated over, the latter twiddling their spectral thumbs. “We _may_ have gotten a bit carried away,” Frederick sheepishly said.

Clarissa tossed down one last potion, before reaching behind herself for another. After patting solid wood a couple of times, the woodcutter glanced over her shoulder and saw no potions behind herself.

“I think we're out, too,” Selene informed them all, folding her arms in front of herself.

Julio turned his head towards the inky specter. “Should we use the cherry bombs?” the gardener asked.

Snatcher hummed in deep thought, his figurative brow furrowing as he observed the soldiers below through his narrowed eyes.

  
  


There were _still_ some circle formations left.

He couldn't risk _his people_ using cherry bombs, right now. While he had managed to pluck a few more sorcerers that were fancier than the rest out of the _handfuls_ of magicians that he had teleported away to the desert, he still wasn't _completely_ sure that those few magicians were the _only ones_ capable of capturing ghosts.

He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he was _wrong_ about his hunch, and one of the villagers wound up **trapped inside of a box or bottle.**

If they fell back to where they had prepared more potions in other lookouts, however, the soldiers would be gaining ground. He wanted to avoid causing _any damage_ to the village, if at all possible.

  
  


“Get on your feet!” the ghost heard Earl Quin growl.

As the battered soldiers slowly pulled themselves upright, the spectral prince turned back to the ghostly villagers.

**“I'll have to-"**

  
  


_The souls of the soldiers that Aureola had trapped were on the move._

**They were heading for the swamp.**

  
  


“What is it?” Zacharias asked, immediately noticing the shock on the maned ghost's face.

**“The soldiers that were trapped have escaped,”** the Snatcher urgently said, **“and they're _heading for the swamp.”_**

  
  


All of the ghosts were _immediately_ alarmed by the news.

  
  


The specter happened to glance at Aureola, in that moment.

In all of his life and afterlife, the only time he had seen Aureola's face show _so much terror_ was when _Vanessa_ had first tried to attack the new Subcon Village.

Before he could even ask, Aureola answered the question that was on his mind.

  
  


“There was a sorcerer, there.”

  
  


Throwing his previous plan aside, the Snatcher **immediately** knew what his new course of action would be.

* * *

In the canyon just outside of Subcon Forest, four individuals on _peculiar_ contraptions waited at the further entrance from the desert to the forest.

The inventor of these vehicles, Thor, nervously glanced between the armored guard to his far left, the Cabinet Minister next to himself, and the cloaked stranger to the inventor's right. His palms were sweaty inside of his gloves, despite the cool air of the night, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety about what they were going to do.

The cloaked stranger turned their head to the Cabinet Minister, their face obscured by the shade their hood provided. _“This should be long enough,”_ the strange individual said, speaking in a rather low whisper.

Thor raised a curious brow; this was the first time he had _ever_ heard the mysterious person speak.

Before the inventor could ask any questions, the Cabinet Minister addressed the hooded stranger.

“I think so, too,” the bespectacled man replied, taking hold of the lever that operated one of the unusual mode of transport.

Glancing briefly at Thor, the Cabinet Minister noticed the inventor's anxious state. Keeping up his false-friendly persona, the tyrant reached over and pat the human's shoulder a few times.

“Thor, you have done me a great service,” the usurper expressed his gratitude, easily hiding his true self behind a friendly tone. “Once we have rescued my prince and the people of the desert from the hands of the prince of Subcon, you will be _lavishly rewarded_ for your help.”

The Cabinet Minister's faked gratitude was easily bought by the inventor. In no time at all, Thor's nervousness died down, somewhat, as a smile appeared on his face.

“I'm more than happy to help!” the inventor exclaimed. “Although from what you've told me, if the area around the manor is frozen, I'm not sure how these vehicles will do in such weather.”

Hiding his annoyance at that remark, the tyrant shook his head. “Well, there is only one way to find out, right?”

Thor nodded in agreement, pulling the goggles from his cap down over his eyes.

His hooded head turning back to the forest's entrance, Cabinet Minister Shady Sunburnt glared through his spectacles at the treeline ahead.

  
  


“To the manor, gentlemen!” he yelled to his three companions. “We have a queen to meet!”


	20. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the greatest can fall, if they're not careful.

_**“FALL BACK!”** _

  
  


The booming yell echoed through the trees, reaching the ears of the vanguard and sorcerer that had been traveling towards the swamp. Stopping in their tracks, they turned towards the source of the yell.

“What's going on, over there?” one soldier wondered aloud.

The magician turned their hooded head, gazing off into the distance. “I know that voice,” the sorcerer revealed. “That is the ruler of Subcon Forest.”

The vanguard of the battaile felt a sudden surge of energy.

“If the ghosts are falling back, that means the rest of the battaile has them on the run,” another soldier realized.

A small “Mmm...” escaped the mage as they stared into the distance. “Perhaps,” they finally said, “or perhaps it's a trap.”

Closing the map they had been holding, the magician stowed it away in their bag and turned to the soldiers. “Whatever the case, if they're pulling back, we won't be able to sneak around them like I had hoped...”

“What do we do, now?” one of the infantry asked.

Letting a sigh escape their lips, the hooded sorcerer faced where the cry had come from.

  
  


“We rejoin the rest of the battaile.”

* * *

  
  


_**“FALL BACK!”** _

  
  


The words **boomed** as they escaped from the Snatcher's glowing, fanged mouth. In an instant, the ghostly villagers around him flew as fast as they could to Subcon Village, heeding the prince's command without question. After a moment, inky ghost followed them, making sure to fly low enough to be spotted.

“Forward!” was Earl Quin's next order. Soldiers that had regained their senses let out rallying cries as they regrouped, surrounding the remaining sorcerers as they rushed between the trees after the ghosts of Subcon's former kingdom.

  
  


The ghostly prince had planned ahead for a situation where they needed to fall back, and the vanguard and sorcerer that he had sensed heading for the swamp- and on a minor note, running out of potions before he had sent all of the sorcerers back to the desert- was without a doubt the _perfect_ time to fall back.

Right now, the _most important thing_ was to make sure the group that had been separated from the rest of the battaile **did not get any closer to the swamp.**

  
  


As the ghostly villagers rushed for the village, the Snatcher focused on sensing the vanguard forces that had been separated from the rest of the group.

  
  


_The soldiers and sorcerer were no longer heading in the swamp's direction._

_They were heading towards the rest of the battaile, and towards him._

  
  


_That was_ **exactly** _what he had hoped for._

  
  


Relief flooded his whole being as the maned spirit made sure that the separated vanguard kept coming his way.

  
  


_**“FALL BACK!!!”** _

* * *

  
  


“I can't believe those infernal contraptions broke!”

  
  


Trudging through the thick snow, Cabinet Minister Shady _fumed_ as he lead his three companions towards the manor that housed Subcon's queen. The tyrant's irritable mood temporarily overcame his common sense to fake a cheerful disposition in front of his fellow allies.

Beside him, the tyrant's guard easily kept up, despite the heavy armor and cape the soldier wore. Behind them, the cloaked stranger and Thor shuddered from the _unnaturally_ chilly air, the icy breeze and wet snow tearing through their clothes.

“A-At the very l-least, the S-Sandmobiles did b-b-better in the snow th-than I expected!” the inventor stuttered, hugging himself and rubbing his shoulders to generate some heat. “Plus, I d-didn't expect a d-dome of ice t-t-to get in our w-way!”

The mysterious cloaked man pulled the ends of their cloak closer around themselves. As they shivered from the cold, the hooded man quickened their pace to reach Shady's side, leaning down to whisper to the usurper.

 _“We're lucky that we've come this f-far, without anyone noticing us,”_ the strange man murmured, _“and we are close t-to our goal.”_

The quartet stopped as they came upon a frozen pond. On the other side, through the dark, thick air that hung about the interior of the icy dome, they could just glimpse the faint silhouette of a towering manor.

Thor _gawked_ at the sight.

“I-It's _massive!”_ the inventor stammered, temporarily forgetting how cold he was from the sight of the structure.

Giving the cloaked stranger a furtive glance, Shady cleared his throat. “Yes, yes it is!” he agreed, faking a cheerful tone as he moved around the iced-over pond. “Now let's go; we'll get frostbite if we stay out here, any longer!”

Following the Cabinet Minister's lead, the soldier, cloaked stranger, and inventor hurried around the pond. By the time they reached the other side, the four were able to glimpse the current state of the macabre manor.

  
  


Spikes of ice surrounded the manor, each one a chilling blue. Some were small, and others were large enough to reach the roof of the wrap-around porch. Some spikes were even jutting out of various parts of the snow-covered roof of the manor, all of them in thick, large clusters. Frozen trees stood behind a small, wrought-iron fence around the staircase at the front of the manor. Each tree was completely blue with ice, their scant branches devoid of leaves and life.

Two angel statues stood in front of the banisters of the staircase, their heads missing from their shoulders and their stone bodies frozen over. Each step of the staircase was blanketed with snow, and at the top were a set of columns. Beyond the columns was the front porch and the entrance doors. Two lit candles were on either side of the doors, and piled up in front of the entrance was thick, powdery snow.

  
  


Thor furrowed his brow, concern written on his face. “That's... unnerving...” he commented, scratching the back of his head.

Shady made no comment, instead narrowing his glowing green eyes at the entrance doors.

“Oldster, get that snow out of the way,” he commanded, turning to the armored soldier on his right.

“Yes, Sir!” Oldster replied, marching up the snow-covered steps to the porch. Flexing his gloved fingers, the guard started digging through the piles of cold powder at a feverish pace.

Shady, Thor, and the stranger carefully ascended the stairs, the inventor side-eyeing the headless statues as he went. He soon stopped about halfway up, while the cloaked man and the Cabinet Minister stopped at the top of the stairs.

In no time at all, Oldster cleared the snow away from the doors without breaking a sweat. Wiping off his gloved hands, the soldier gently tried the doorknobs, and soon discovered that they turned without any problems.

“They're unlocked,” he reported.

Shady nodded enthusiastically, his two-fingered hands clasped together in delight. _“Spectacular!”_ the Cabinet Minister exclaimed. “Now, let's go over the plan.”

Raising an eyebrow, Thor nodded as he climbed a few more steps. His attention focused entirely on the Cabinet Minister, ignoring anything else that happened to be around.

“The Queen of Subcon has been trapped her for quite a long time, which means she may not be used to... visitors,” Shady explained. “So, we'll have to be _as polite as we possibly can._ Otherwise, she might think we're working for the _ghosts."_

Shady moved over to the doors. Balling a hand into a fist, he raised it up to knock.

In that moment, Thor happened to glance behind himself.

  
  


His eyes nearly _bulged_ out of their sockets.

  
  


A sharp yelp escaped the inventor as he ducked underneath a frozen, stony hand that swiped at him. He bolted up the steps as the cloaked stranger, Oldster, and Shady all whirled around to see what the fuss was about.

  
  


_The headless statues were **moving towards them.**_

  
  


The cloaked man stepped back in surprise. The usurper backed away onto the porch. Thor pressed himself against a wall, utterly _horrified_ by the sight.

Wrenching a door open, Oldster held it in place. _“Get inside!”_ the soldier ordered.

Without any hesitation, the stranger, Shady, and Thor ran into the manor. The moment the three were safely inside, Oldster followed them.

The fast-approaching, iced-over bodies of the headless cherubs were the last thing the armored man saw of the outside world, before he swiftly shut the door.

  
  


* * *

**Subcon Forest**

* * *

  
  


Soldiers rushed through the village of Subcon Forest, their metal armor clanging loudly as they pursued the ghosts fleeing from them. The normally-sleepy Subcon Village was filled with chaos as the desert soldiers stormed through, escorting the remaining sorcerers safely through the streets. Earl Quin charged forward, leading his battaile towards what he felt was certain victory. Though he couldn't see where the other ghosts had gone, the earl could see the Snatcher's shadowy being darting out of the village and down a dirt path.

“Do not stop for _anything!”_ Quin roared. “We have them on the run!”

In response to their leader, the soldiers released loud, fierce yells as they advanced down the path.

The Snatcher glanced back over his shoulder, before turning forward and bolting down the path. He passed the bridge, turning left for a few seconds, before he darted straight into the treeline.

The soldiers followed closely, eager to take down their spirited enemies.

Once he had gone far enough, the ghost dove into the ground behind a tree.

Earl Quin and the forces he lead went around the tree, and soon came to a stop. The earl squinted, turning his head left and right as he scanned for any sign of the inky ghost.

“Where did that blasted phantom-”

  
  


Explosions **erupted** all around the soldiers, sending many flying into the closely-knit trees, along with some of the remaining sorcerers.

The thrown-about sorcerers groaned as the slowly pushed themselves up. As their eyes moved to glance above them, sharp screams escaped the mages as they were **snatched up** and carried off.

Earl Quin turned his gaze skyward, and saw a liquid-filled flask _flying right towards him._ The armored earl dove to his right, narrowly avoiding the flask as it crashed into the ground and **burst** into purple smoke. Gritting his teeth, the earl picked himself up quickly and yelled at the battaile.

“Get into formation and _protect the sorcerers!”_ he barked, seething as he stomped over to one of the mages and grabbed them by the collar. _“You,”_ he snarled, “tell me you have _some_ kind of magic to deal with this!”

"I-I'm sorry," the poor sorcerer stuttered as quietly as they could, "only the head mages have magic that can hurt ghosts!"

Annoyance immediately filled Quin as he realized that there was only one head mage left, and that he had left them behind near the forest's entrance.

"Then destroy their ammunition supplies!" the earl growled.

"I told you, we _can't!"_ the mage fearfully cried. "We can't reach their supplies from down here! Not at _this_ angle!"

Frustrated, the battaile's leader tossed the frightened magician back into the hands of the soldiers. "Guard the sorcerers until the head mage returns," Quin murmured, anger clear in his voice.

The ghosts of Subcon Forest yelled joyfully up above, tossing potions down from a wooden bridge that connected one tree house to a nearby platform.

“Take that, you dumb _brutes!”_ Clarissa roared, hurtling a flask down at the battaile with great vigor.

A few seconds later, the Snatcher reappeared over the villagers, his clawed hands now empty. As the soldiers below gathered around the remaining sorcerers in an attempt to shield them from the onslaught of potions, the specter's fanged, glowing mouth stretched clear across his face.

  
  


**_“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”_ **

  
  


* * *

In the distance, just outside of the village, the vanguard of the battaile and the cloaked sorcerer raced to the very edge of the raised land that served as the border around the tree-stump village. Wordlessly, the mage peered down at the unusual abodes, while the soldiers behind them slid down a nearby slope to get to lower ground. One soldier remained behind, their head turned to stare at the magician.

“So this is the new Subcon Village,” the cloaked magician murmured to themselves. “How in the world do they all fit into such _small_ houses...?”

  
  


“Come on!”

  
  


The mage yelped as the soldier yanked on the back of their cloak, dragging the hapless person down the slope. The moment the solder's boots touched the ground below, the poor mage pulled themselves free of the infantry's grasp.

“Don't _ever_ drag me around like that, again!" they hissed, pointing a finger directly at the soldier's covered face.

“We don't have time for sightseeing,” the soldier stated, “the rest of the battaile needs our assistance!”

The sorcerer exhaled. _“Very well,”_ they replied, annoyance evident in their tone.

As the soldier and magician rushed towards the nearby explosions, the cloaked individual reached into their bag.

  
  


“This time, he _won't_ be able to stop me.”

  
  


* * *

**Queen Vanessa's Manor**

* * *

  
  


“Oldster, what are you doing!?”

  
  


The Cabinet Minister had just finished checking the living room windows to see if one would open, when he spotted Oldster in the kitchen. The tyrant whispered harshly as he reprimanded the soldier, who had removed all of his armor in the kitchen and started rubbing at it with a towel.

Thor and the cloaked stranger walked into the kitchen, after having checked the windows in the hallway. Both of them _stared_ at the man, who was wrapped up in the cloak he had worn over his armor.

“I have to dry it off,” Oldster explained as he rubbed at the frigid metal. “It's covered with moisture, and it'll rust if I don't.”

Balling his hands into fists, Shady gave the old man an infuriated glare.

“We're supposed to be looking for a way out!” he hissed at the soldier.

Oldster nodded slightly in response. “I _know._ I already checked the kitchen windows. They're all frozen stiff; they're not budging, anytime soon."

Infuriated to no end, Shady motioned to the armor. “Can't you wait to do that when we're back in the desert!?” the tyrant quietly growled.

The old man glanced up from his armor, his eyes obscured by his thick white hair.

“If it rusts, I won't be able to _move,”_ Oldster explained, stroking his beard as he spoke. “If I can't _move,_ I can't _protect_ you.”

Huffing, the Cabinet Minister finally relented, his mood fouled by all of this. “Fine,” he grumbled, "Tim, help me search the rest of the manor."

As the inventor gently fist-pumped at the discovery of the hooded individual's name, Tim reluctantly lowered the hood of his cloak.

The mysterious Tim was rather... _odd,_ to say the least. He was rather old, with short white hair that separated into different points, and somehow stayed up and out of the way of his forehead. A beard of matching color and decent length grew somehow perfectly in-line with the hair on his head, making it difficult to tell where his hair ended and his beard began. Underneath an almost egg-shaped nose was a small white mustache, and above and to the sides of his somewhat pinkish nose were a pair of light blue eyes. Thick black eyebrows grew above his eyes, and- strangely enough- in the middle of the man's forehead was some kind of deformity, with a curved black line shaped almost like a Cheshire moon underneath it.

  
  


Thor couldn't help but _stare_ at the deformity; it was rather _weird..._

Tim frowned slightly, a nervous look crossing his face. _“I think we should wait,"_ the strange man said. _"It would be better for all of us if we stayed together, for now."_

Shady was about two seconds away from _throttling_ the cloaked man for his ambiguity, when Oldster suddenly spoke up.

“There we go; all dry! Now it just needs a bit of time to warm up," the old man cheerfully said.

“Warm- why can't you just put it on, right now!?” Shady hissed.

“With the metal that cold? I'd get _stuck_ to it before I could put it all on!” was Oldster's quiet exclamation.

Spending a few seconds to recompose himself, the Cabinet Minister sighed and held his hooded forehead. “Ugh... let's just head upstairs.”

Grumbling to himself, the tyrant walked straight out of the kitchen and to the door across the hall, tentatively turning the doorknob open.

The other three followed Shady, Tim pulling his hood back up over his head as he went. Thor glanced back down the hall towards the entrance.

He could still see that weird ice sculpture of... some kind of creature, along with a small staircase leading down to another floor.

They had found the door down those stairs locked, sadly.

  
  


_“Thor!”_

  
  


The inventor turned back around at the whispered call for his attention, and hurried into the room that everyone else had gone into.

“Say,” the inventor began to say, “what do you think that statue in the hallway is-”

Thor cut himself off, his eyes growing _wide as saucers._

  
  


One look around the room revealed that they were in a parlor. A billiards table stood in one corner, with a ninety-degree couch placed in the corner behind it. Diagonally from that corner of the room was a dartboard placed on the wall, a lone dart sticking out from board. In the back of the room, far away from the door to the hallway, was am L-shaped counter top and some bar stools.

But what caught Thor's attention- and the attention of _everyone else_ in the room- _was what was on one of the bar stools._

  
  


Surrounded by small ice stalagmites at the end of the counter was a short ice statue of an old man, sitting at the bar and holding his head. Though the quartet couldn't make out any defining features, from the posture of the statue, they all could venture that the statue was _not_ originally a statue.

  
  


Thor's face _paled._

Tim stepped back.

Oldster looked like he was about to have a _heart attack._

Shady stared right at the statue for a good, _long_ moment.

Then, he turned to the other three.

“Okay, our first priority is _finding a way out,”_ the bespectacled man murmured. “There's at least four floors to this manor. One of those floors has to have a window that isn't frozen enough to open.”

He pointed a finger at Tim. “Tim, you search the second floor-”

Shady moved the digit to Thor. “- and Thor, you check the parlor windows, then head upstairs to help Tim.”

Placing a two-fingered hand against his chest, the Cabinet Minister motioned to Oldster with his free hand. “Oldster and I will check the third and fourth floors.”

  
  


Tim and Thor nodded quickly. "We understand!" was the inventor's reply.

“And _be quiet,”_ the usurper urged in a low tone, motioning with his hands for Thor to lower his voice. _“We don't want to startle the queen.”_

Both Thor and Tim glanced at each other briefly, before they both nodded again.

While Thor cautiously squeezed past the ice statue to try the window next to it, Tim, Shady, and Oldster opened the double doors on the wall left to the hallway door and carefully ascended the stairs.

They were met with green wallpaper, torn by what appeared to be **claws,** given the different patches of precise, parallel lines. Sparse furniture littered the sides of the hallway, some chairs, some plants, and one piece being a cloth-covered table. On the left wall was door, and further down on the right wall were two doorways, the one at the very end of the hallway being a set of double-doors.

Naturally, the trio focused more on the _torn-up wallpaper,_ than anything. The cold, _dreadful_ air of the manor was _foreboding..._

  
  


Tim was the first to snap out of his horror.

  
  


Spotting a window immediately to his right, the hooded man moved over to examine it. _“Go check upstairs,”_ he told the other two. _“I'll handle the windows, here.”_

Shady nodded, before glancing at the double doors at the end of the hall. Venturing a guess that that was most likely the staircase up, the tyrant motioned for Oldster to follow and stealthily crept to the hallway's end. He paused as he noticed an adjacent hallway jutting off to the left, but looking down it only produced the sight of a dead end and a door on the left wall.

Within seconds, Shady turned back to the double doors and opened them.

He sighed in relief when he soon spotted stairs going up.

“Let's go,” the Cabinet Minister whispered to the soldier.

Nodding at his superior, Oldster followed the small, hooded person up the stairs, closing the doors behind himself.

Tim watched them go for a moment, having given up on trying to force the window open, before he moved to another window on the same wall. He gripped the muntins and gently shook them, hoping that the window _might_ be jarred open, but to no avail.

The man shook his head, before glancing over his shoulder and noticing the door on the wall behind him. He turned around, moving towards the door.

_“I_ guess _I can go room by room and work my way down,”_ he muttered to himself. _“It's fiiiiiiiiine...”_

Tentatively, he turned the doorknob. Much to his dismay, it stopped partway.

_“Locked,”_ Tim mumbled, reaching up to stroke his beard for a moment. _“Ah well; nothing to do but try another door.”_

Shrugging to himself, the cloaked man went further down the hall and tried the first door on his left. _“Aha!”_ he triumphantly mumbled upon finding the door unlocked. Cracking the door slightly, the man peeked inside to find an empty bathroom, with two windows on either side of a toilet just across the room.

_“Who puts_ windows _in a_ bathroom? _Weird.”_

The hooded man slipped inside, leaving the door ajar.

  
  


Back down the hall quiet _click_ came from the locked door in the hallway. The doorknob slowly turned all the way around, silent and smooth as it went, before the wooden door cracked open.

  
  


**_A shadowy, clawed, gnarled hand gripped the edge of the door._ **

  
  


* * *

**Subcon Forest**

* * *

  
  


The soldiers were trying to _trick_ him by having some dragoons gather in circle formations around _no one._

  
  


_How adorable._

  
  


**“Ignore the other circle formations,”** the Snatcher told the villagers, pointing to two separate formations that he could sense were surrounding a few souls. **“Focus on those two!”**

_“Yes, Sir!”_ the villagers cried, focusing their arsenal of potions on the formations the prince indicated.

  
  


The desert troops' forces only had a few sorcerers left, thanks to the coordination between the inky ghost and the ghostly villagers. In mere minutes, the villagers and the Snatcher had nearly _wiped the floor_ with the soldiers, the specter snatching away most of the remaining magicians and sending them back to the desert with ease.

Once they had broken apart the final circles with sorcerers in them, Subcon Forest's ghostly inhabitants would fly down and fight off the soldiers directly.

As they picked off the mages, the maned spirit could practically feel the eyes of the battaile's leader **boring** through his ghostly being.

_The thought made the inky ghost grin more widely than before._

  
  


Down below the tree houses, Earl Quin grit his teeth as he glared **daggers** at the maned phantom. His fists shaking from how hard he was clenching them, the earl bellowed his next command.

“They're not falling for it; just gather around the sorcerers!”

“Oh, no you don't!” Diana roared, tossing down a few well-thrown potions to keep the rest of the soldiers from gathering around the soldiers actually protecting the mages.

The villagers focused on keeping the other soldiers at bay, for the moment, not wanting more soldiers to join up with the formations and make it _more_ difficult to separate the infantry and dragoons from the magicians.

  
  


Zacharias poked their head into the tree house at the end of the bridge for more potions. Dismay was plain on their face when they noticed the structure was _empty._

“We're out of potions on this side!” the miller announced to the other villagers.

“We've got plenty, over here!” Selene called back from the platform, motioning to the stacked tree houses.

Aureola pulled themselves away from the side of the bridge, darting over to the stacked tree houses to bring potions out to the villagers. Despite the fact that there was one less villager throwing potions at the soldiers, the hat-maker's swift speed helped the villagers throw potions even _faster_ than before!

  
  


* * *

Nearby, the sorcerer and the vanguard observed the onslaught of explosive potions.

One soldier let out a low groan of dismay. "That's... not good..."

"No, no it's not," the sorcerer replied, humming quietly as they watched the chaos.

The entire vanguard glanced at one another, murmuring amongst themselves.

"They're being pummeled, out there."

"What are we supposed to do about _that!?"_

"At this rate, there won't be anything left of us, if we went in there!"

While the soldiers talked to one another, the magician merely watched the explosive battle continue. They hummed to themselves, a small idea suddenly sprouting in their mind.

"Hmm... Maybe there's still a way to win this..."

At that, the vanguard ceased speaking, their attention drawn to the hooded person.

“What's the plan?” one of the soldiers asked the mage.

For a moment, the cloaked person didn't reply, focusing their attention instead upon the milliner flying in and out of the stacked tree house, supplying the other spectral villagers with potion after potion swiftly and without stopping.

Tucking the box they were holding underneath an arm, the magician produced their knife and a tome from their bag, opening the book carefully up to a specific page.

“The plan is to take out their supplies,” the sorcerer answered, “and I know the _perfect_ way to do that.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


_He sensed something. Not a_ **soul,** _but **something else...**_

  
  


The Snatcher turned his head. Something glinted in the trees some ways away.

What _was_ that-

  
  


_Time slowed down._

  
  


_He saw something_ _covered in ice, flying straight up towards the stacked tree houses._

_He saw Aureola, emerging from the lower tree house with a potion in their hands._

  
  


**His non-existent heart _stopped._**

  
  


_**“AUREOLA!”** _

  
  


Panic seizing his entire ghost being, the Snatcher bolted for the hat-maker, flying as fast as he could towards the milliner with a hand extended. Aureola barely had time to react as his talon-like fingers **gripped** their upper arm and **yanked them away,** the maned phantom rushing as quickly as possible to _**get them away from the icy projectile.**_

Startled by the yell, the rest of Subcon's ghostly inhabitants whirled around to look at the prince and the hat-maker.

The potion Aureola had been holding had _flown from their grasp._

**The projectile flew at the potion.**

  
  


Instinctively, the phantom swung Aureola around and shielded them with his ghostly body.

The villagers all hit the deck.

  
  


_**The ice hit the flask.** _

  
  


A plume of purple smoke _erupted_ from the interior of the tree houses, the sound of many explosions happening all at once almost _deafening._ The force made the wood of the lower tree house splinter with a thunderous **crack,** sending pieces of the planks flying in all directions and raining down upon the soldiers on the forest floor below. The battaile scrambled for cover, raising their shields to protect themselves and the sorcerers from the falling debris.

Slowly, the Snatcher and Aureola turned around to look at the damage. A deep, shocked, open-mouthed frown stretched down the inky ghost's face, and his figurative brow furrowed upwards as his left eye shrank in a combination of a cringing and wincing expression. The milliner's face displayed wide-eyed horror as their mouth shifted into a thin line, so startled from the explosion that they froze on the spot.

The wooden structure creaked loudly without warning. Both the maned prince and the hat-maker recoiled as the top tree house suddenly slid down, the sound of wood scratching against the tree trunks _earsplitting_ to everyone there. All of the ghosts flinched as the structure came to a stop just _inches_ above the remains of the tree house below it.

After the initial shock had faded away, the Snatcher glanced in the direction the ice had come from, briefly afraid that _she_ had left the manor.

The gleam of armor in the distance told him otherwise.

The vanguard had arrived, and with them, the sorcerer that _undoubtedly_ was the source of the icy projectile.

  
  


His shocked expression shifted to a mixture of fury and disgust the moment his eyes locked onto the hooded mage.

  
  


“Snatcher!”

  
  


Diana's voice snapped the ghost out of his infuriated state. He whipped his head around, rage fading from his face as he turned his attention to the blacksmith.

Motioning to the ruined tree house- which _still_ had purple smoke billowing out of the entrance, windows, and roofless top, Diana stared at the prince with a solemn look in their eyes.

“That was the last of the potions,” they informed him. “Should we risk using the cherry bombs?”

The specter was silent for a few seconds as he flew to the platform with Aureola, releasing his hold on the milliner the moment they were above the wooden floor. A quick glance down at the forest floor revealed the sight of soldiers picking themselves up and raising their weapons in the air. Loud, raucous cheering and chanting echoed from below as Earl Quin stared at the ghosts.

Even from so far away, the gleam in the earl's eye told the maned prince that the man was _smirking_ at them.

  
  


_No, he couldn't focus on that, right now._

  
  


Turning to his people, the prince of Subcon Forest gazed at the villagers, a mixture of solemn realization and steeling resolve plain on his face as he frowned.

**“I'll have to do what I was originally planning, before we fell back,”** he informed them. **“I'm going down there, myself.”**

Each of the villagers instantly darted over to him, pulling him away from the platform. The Snatcher was _startled_ by their response as he was dragged away from the ledge, so surprised that- for a brief moment- he didn't know what to do.

The only ones who didn't rush over to the royal specter were Julio, Frederick, and Zacharias, all three knowing the reason why the prince had decided to go down below.

“You can't go down there!” Clarissa growled in outrage.

“It's too dangerous!” Anne cried, balling her hands into fists.

“What if they capture you!?” Selene mentioned, grabbing the ruler's arm with both of her hands. “What will we do, then!?”

_**“Enough!”**_ the maned ghost boomed, silencing the villagers gathered around him. His non-existent brow furrowed as his gaze hardened, his resolve growing greater by the moment.

Startled by his sudden yell, Selene released her grip on his arm.

The ghosts backed away as the Snatcher floated back to the platform's edge, his glowing eyes darting to examine the soldiers' formations.

The vanguard had taken a circle formation around the sorcerer that sent ice flying at Aureola, and had fully regrouped with the rest of the battaile.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

Subcon's villagers met his gaze, each one sporting worried looks upon their spectral faces.

_**“I will be fine,”**_ the phantom of the forest told them. **“I will deal with the remaining mages, myself. Once they are gone, some of you stay up here and hurl down cherry bombs, and everyone else head down and engage in direct combat.”**

He turned his head, mostly to hide the slight anxiety that soon struck him.

**“If _anything_ happens to me,”** he began, clenching his clawed hands tightly into fists, **_“don't try to be a hero._ Get to the well, get the other villagers and the children, and _leave Subcon Forest.”_**

  
  


Everyone was _horrified_ by what he said.

  
  


Anne immediately floated towards him. “But-”

  
  


Zacharias grabbed the cobbler's shoulder. Anne abruptly stopped speaking and glanced at the miller, who shook their head slightly at her.

Frederick and Julio floated over to the rest of the group, the latter focusing his attention on the inky ghost.

“We understand, Snatcher,” the gardener stated, before turning to the other ghosts. “Come on; we need to figure out who's going down and who's throwing cherry bombs.”

Taking a deep breath, the Snatcher nodded to himself and darted down towards the forest floor.

  
  


“He's heading our way!” Earl Quin roared. “Soldiers, be ready to-”

A single, gigantic, clawed hand _swept away_ a large swathe of the battaile, sending infantry and dragoons alike **hurtling** through the air. Within just seconds, the Snatcher of Subcon Forest tore through a circle formation, knocking aside countless soldiers as he let out an **echoing, _infuriated_ roar.**

The violent display of aggression from the towering ghost made the earl falter, stepping back as the forest's prince ignored the fruitless attacks the soldiers made against him and focused only on getting to the sorcerers in the center of the formation he had targeted.

Finally, after what felt like _ages-_ but was really on a few seconds or so, the Snatcher **ripped** the rest of the dragoons away, revealing the terrified, hooded sorcerers that had huddled close to one another.

Not wasting a single moment, the specter grabbed the hapless magicians and darted back up into the air, phasing through a tree trunk to deposit his unfortunate victims in the desert.

Up above, the villagers cheered from the platform, some of them fist-pumping while others raised their fists triumphantly into the air.

  
  


_Earl Quin was_ **furious.**

  
  


“DO SOMETHING!” he roared at the soldiers and sorcerers. “WE'RE _LOSING!”_

Surrounded by the vanguard, the fancier sorcerer stared at the only other circle formation left, inside which a few other mages sought shelter from the maned ghost.

“When the ghost comes back, get me closer to the rest of the battaile,” the magician told the vanguard surrounding them.

Grunting in response, the infantry and dragoons cast their gazes skyward.

Just a few seconds later, the Snatcher returned, swooping back down towards the formation guarding the few remaining mages that were struggling to keep the barriers up.

The vanguard approached from behind as the ghostly prince batted away at the formation in front of himself, the sorcerers below quickly revealed from his efforts.

_“LOOK OUT!”_ Diana warned from above.

  
  


_The other formation was behind him._

Whipping around, the Snatcher had just enough time to see the formation split apart and reveal the fancy hooded sorcerer. With their box in hand, they opened the lid.

  
  


His glowing eyes grew _enormous,_ fear filling the yellow ovals instantly.

  
  


An unnatural wind **burst** out of the container, swirling violently towards his inky being. The gale-force winds whistled loudly as they tried to pull him in, dead-set on their target.

Fearing for his afterlife, the specter raised an arm in front of himself, screwing his glowing eyes shut as he awaited his unfortunate fate of imprisonment.

  
  


… He felt no tug on himself.

_Nothing happened to him._

**The winds didn't so much as _tug_ on him!**

  
  


If it weren't the the sorcerer's hood, the Snatcher was willing to bet that their expression would be one of _pure terror._

  
  


The inky phantom's startled frown shifted into a smug grin.

  
  


The sorcerer stepped back.

Glancing back at the other magicians for a brief second, the Snatcher soon discovered that _none of them_ were attempting to help capture him, but were _backing away._ Not only that, but the mage that had attempted to capture him _definitely_ had a fancier cloak, and a bigger bag slung around their shoulder.

His glowing, fanged grin grew _greater_ as he turned back to the sorcerer with the box.

The magician gulped.

Not more than a second later, they were _screaming_ as a clawed hand snatched them up.

**“You know, I really should thank you!”** the Snatcher said, flying up into the air with the mage. **“I had a theory that _some_ of you sorcerers weren't educated in the art of capturing ghosts, but I wasn't _positive_ until you tried to catch me.”**

He gazed down at the sorcerer in his hand. **“For that, you have my-”**

The ghost froze.

His grin vanished _instantly._

Due to his ascent, the mage's hood had fluttered back enough to reveal their face-

  
  


**The frightened eyes of Lewis Skylark stared _right at the ghost._**

  
  


Almost immediately, the corners of the Snatcher's fanged mouth turned down as his eyes narrowed at the sorcerer.

**“I thought I told you to _stay out of my forest,”_** he said, his voice low and tone threatening.

The sorcerer anxiously stuttered a response, their stare wide-eyed and filled with dread as they spoke.

“H-H-How did you not get captured!?” they cried, “I had the- the _best_ box made just for you!”

A smirk stretched across the ghost's darkened face as he lowered his head towards Lewis.

**“Surely you'd know the answer! You _did_ read that tome we confiscated from you, didn't you?”**

  
  


_The sorcerer's fear was_ **palpable.**

  
  


His smirk growing more, the Snatcher quoted one simple sentence from the book that had been taken from the sorcerer, the first time they came to Subcon Forest.

  
  


**“'Some ghosts are too _powerful_ to be trapped by _any_ means.'”**

  
  


Without any warning, the ghostly prince shot through the air towards the nearest tree. Lewis let out a startled yell, unable to free themselves from the phantom's grasp.

**“Since you've put me in such a good mood, I'll let you live, _this time,”_** the inky specter informed them. Suddenly, his tone got low, once more. **“But if you _ever_ step foot into my home, again...”**

He glared at Lewis, his voice no louder than a murmur.

  
  


_**“You won't leave in one piece.”** _

  
  


The terrified screech that Lewis emitted was cut off as the Snatcher phased through the tree with the sorcerer, both of them vanishing instantly.

The soldiers and remaining sorcerers stared at the tree the two disappeared into in _absolute silence._

Marching over to one of the sorcerers, Earl Quin grabbed the poor mage by their robe's collar and yanked them into the air.

 _“You said the head mages would be able to capture him!”_ was the furious hiss that came from the earl.

“Th-They were!” the frightened mage squeaked. “But the box didn't- didn't work, somehow!”

All of a sudden, the poor mage was torn from the earl's grasp as the Snatcher returned, darting through the troops to grab the sorcerer from his grasp.

Snaking into the sky, the Snatcher grinned widely as he turned to the spectral villagers in the tree houses.

**“I was right; these last few mages _can't_ capture ghosts!”** the prince announced to the cheering villagers. **“Now, make these soldiers regret stepping foot into _our forest!”_**

A loud, joyous roar erupted from the villagers as the maned ghost dashed into another tree. Diana, Julio, Anne, Horace, Zacharias, Clarissa, and Gwendolyn shape-shifted into their human forms and grabbed their weapons, before vaulting themselves over the rope railing of the bridge and down to the forest floor. Aureola and Selene rushed to pick up the cherry bombs they had prepared, Frederick and Raymond entering the fruit as the milliner and carpenter tossed the explosive fruit down at the soldiers.

The bombs reached the soldiers first, blasting many of the battaile about. Next came the villagers that jumped down, roaring mighty battle cries as they rushed straight into battle with what infantry and dragoons were still standing.

Frederick and Raymond soon reappeared up above on the platform, both of them grinning eagerly as they darted into the next cherry bombs that Aureola and Selene tossed down.

As Earl Quin and his battaile were pushed further and further back by the villagers' attacked and the exploding fruit that rained from the sky, the Snatcher rushed back into the fray and grabbed the remaining sorcerers that were fleeing, taking off into the sky and through another tree trunk with the screeching magicians. A few seconds later, he burst from the ground beneath the infantry and dragoons.

With no mages to keep barriers up around the battaile, the inky ghost could now teleport _anywhere near the soldiers._

Amidst the sounds of clashing weapons and explosions, a booming, _joyful_ laugh escaped the specter as he joined in the fight.

  
  


* * *

**Queen Vanessa's Manor**

* * *

* * *

_Tim, the Second Floor Bathroom_

* * *

_  
  
_

_No matter how hard he shook the muntins of the bathroom windows, he just couldn't get them to **budge!**_

  
  


Tim had already finished trying the left window, and had immediately moved on to the right. At first, he thought he might have heard the sound of the frame giving in, but to his dismay, the frame held firm.

Frowning, the hooded man lowered his hood and loosened the clasp of his cloak slightly. It was tugging on his neck uncomfortably, and making it difficult for him to think. That, plus without any of the others around, he felt that he could risk letting his cloak be a bit looser; the _last_ thing he needed was _anyone_ knowing about anything too _advanced._

_"I guess I'll just have to try a different window,"_ he murmured, _"I don't need to worry about a thiiiiing..."_

His vision randomly darkened as a black haze seemed to fill the area. The room wobbled and shook like the desert during an exceptionally hot day, and a sense of doom and dread flooded the room.

Tim froze, the clasp unlatching and sending his cloak falling to the floor. The man's striped, gray suit jacket fluttered slightly as he suddenly whipped around, the gold chain in his pocket flying around from the sudden movement.

He didn't have time to scream as he backed into the corner of the room, a pitch-black hand suddenly gripping his shoulder with great animosity. Tim lurched back, the deformation on his forehead opening wide to reveal a third, light blue eye. His movements slowed as he could do nothing but _stare_ at the glaring red eyes of the grotesque, shadowy monster in front of him. Ice quickly spread across him, from his shoulders down to his buttoned-up undershirt, to his rolled-up sleeves, and to the analog and digital watches on his wrists. The icy magic consumed him, all the way to his gray suit pants and to the very bottoms of his brown shoes.

  
  


_Each moment was_ **absolute torture;** **it felt like knives were _stabbing into his skin._**

  
  


As chilly stalagmites sprouted around him, the last thought that entered Tim's mind as ice crept up his face was one of regret and sincerity.

  
  


_I have made so many mistakes. Forgive me, my old friend._

Frost obscured the man's features. Not even his three eyes were visible under the thick ice that encased him.

  
  


* * *

_Thor, the Second Floor Hallway_

* * *

  
  


No way out through the parlor.

Thor carefully walked upstairs, a silent sigh escaping him as he rubbed his arms. None of the windows in the parlor so much as _budged,_ which meant they'd have to make their escape from the second story of the manor. He was secretly relieved; _he didn't want to be alone on the first floor!_

Mostly because of the ice statue that was likely some poor old man that had _frozen to death!_

But there was also something else about the building; _he had a feeling that he shouldn't be there, at all._ He wasn't sure why, but the inventor felt as though something was waiting to _strike them all down._

That feeling intensified when he reached the top of the staircase and spotted the countless claw marks in the green wallpaper.

  
  


_Oh, something was_ **not right** _about this place._

He couldn't wait to get back home. As much as he was eager to help the Cabinet Minister free the people of the desert and their prince, every moment that the inventor spent in this gloomy place filled his heart more and _more_ with fright.

Swallowing his fear down in a single gulp, Thor shook slightly as he made his way down the hall. He rubbed his arms harder, frowning deeply as he shivered from the manor's chilled air. Even though he was _inside_ of the building, the air was no warmer than _outside!_

  
  


… Actually, upstairs, it was _worse_ than outside.

  
  


Trying to distract himself from the frigid temperatures, Thor glanced to the right wall and noticed a door that was wide open. His curiosity piqued, the inventor moved for the doorway.

Tim must be inside; he could meet up with the odd man and-

  
  


_A wave of consternation washed over Thor._

  
  


Everything dimmed around him as a _gigantic figure_ with leering red eyes emerged, charging towards the inventor with **malicious intent.**

Thor backed away from the door, raising his right arm to his chest as his left hand flew up to cover his mouth. His heart pounded **violently** against his chest as his vision shook and waved from the insidious shadows. Trepidation consumed all rational thought as his body was overtaken by violent tremors.

A **gnarled, shadowy hand** gripped his shoulder faster than he could even react. Even if he had recovered from his shock, the inventor would have found that _he wouldn't be able to move a muscle_ before he was **enveloped** by the _**chilling magic.**_

**  
  
**

**It hurt so much. The cold was** _**excruciating!** _

  
  


Thor's wide-eyed, panicked expression was hidden by ice as he was _**frozen solid.**_

  
  


* * *

_Oldster, the Third Floor_

* * *

  
  


The third floor was a _mess._

  
  


Broken tables, torn furniture... Not to mention the locked double doors at the end of the hallway they had entered, upon ascending the staircase. Boards nailed into it with warnings painted in red, chains wrapped around it, padlocks...

  
  


_It gave Oldster the creeps._

  
  


Shady and the soldier had split up to search the third floor for an exit, the Cabinet Minister taking the left side of the floor while Oldster search the right. Though the entirety of the third floor had a _surplus_ of windows, not a single one so much as gave the old man an _inch_ when he shook them.

Eventually, he gave up and returned to the hallway. Oldster noticed Shady trying the windows by the locked door at the end of the hall, and hurried to meet the usurper.

“None of the windows on the right side are budging,” Oldster revealed.

“Neither are the windows on the left side,” the Cabinet Minister mentioned, growling quietly in frustration when the windows he were shaking wouldn't give way. Soon enough, he turned to the soldier and peered at the old man through his spectacles. “There _are_ a set of locked doors, however," Shady continued. "They probably lead to the next floor, but I couldn't find the key to unlock the padlock with.”

“What should we do?” the caped soldier asked.

Shady rubbed his chin, though his face was obscured by his hood, except for his eyes.

“I'll search the right side of the third floor for the key, and check the attic if I happen to find it,” Shady said. “Oldster, check up on Tim and Thor's progress, downstairs.”

Saluting the bespectacled man once more, Oldster turned and descended the stairs.

He exercised _extreme_ caution as he headed to the second floor, taking careful, slow steps on his way down. All the while, he nervously gulped, wrapping his cape tightly about him as he approached the second floor landing.

He _hated_ this place; it was creepy, cold, and practically _screamed_ of _death._

Oldster peered out of the doorway at the hallway directly in front of him. Upon seeing no one, he sighed and turned his head to the left. The sight of something shining in the moonlight attracted his attention. Squinting, the old soldier tried to discern what he was looking at-

The old man nearly _yelled_ in surprise, just _barely_ managing to muffle the noise with his hand. In an instant, he rushed down the hall to the glimmering object.

_Horror_ **consumed** _him._

**It was Thor, _completely encased in thick ice._**

  
  


The sight of the statue _affrighted_ the old man. The poor inventor had been _frozen stiff!_ But how-

  
  


Out of the corner of his right eye, the soldier caught some kind of distortion coming from the adjacent hallway.

  
  


Admittedly, Oldster had _never_ been good at dealing with things like living statues and macabre manors. The only reason he _hadn't_ bolted straight into the manor when those statues had charged at them all was his sense of duty to the Cabinet Minister, and to protecting Thor and Tim, as well!

  
  


But now, _the old man was on his own,_ with what was likely a **horrible monster _heading his way_** _ **!**_

  
  


He gulped again, before turning around and opening the door behind himself-

No, that was a bathroom! _There's no place to hide in there!-_

  
  


**Was... was that _Tim_ in there-**

  
  


All of a sudden, Oldster felt a sense of despair hit him like a sledgehammer _._ Turning his head, he could see the shadowy distortions growing stronger as _something_ approached.

Closing the door as quickly and silently as possible, the old man darted for the room near the staircase. Much to his relief, the doorknob turned easily in his grasp, and he hurried inside without a problem.

A quick scan of the room revealed that this was none other than the queen's room. A wardrobe, queen-sized canopy bed, night stand, vanity, and desk sat on the left wall, while an armchair and potted plant sat in the corner by the right wall. A long table was at the end of the room, and in the middle of the right wall was a door.

  
  


_Focus, old man! You're in danger!_

  
  


Turning his attention back to the imminent peril he was in, Oldster spun around and tentatively cracked the door he entered from open. Through the hair-thin crack of the door, he saw the most _horrifying_ creature he had ever seen in his _entire life._

It was some kind of hunched-over figure enveloped in pure _darkness,_ with a pair of shining red eyes that _glowed_ with hate. Though the darkness of the being made it difficult for him to distinguish any _specific_ details, the old soldier _could_ make out the ends of a tattered dress, long hair, and what appeared to be a crown.

  
  


_She was the queen, without a doubt, and probably the reason why Thor and Tim were now ice statues._

  
  


_He did_ **_not_** _want to get_ _**anywhere** near her._

  
  


Oldster observed the queen turn her horrific gaze to the double doors leading upstairs. Slowly, she approached the doors, reaching out to grab the doorknobs.

Realization _struck_ the old man like lightning.

  
  


_The shadowy queen was heading for the staircase to the third floor._

**The Cabinet Minister was upstairs!**

_**If she saw him, she'd freeze him!** _

  
  


Though he was _fully consumed_ by fear, the old man _knew_ he couldn't let the woman get to his bespectacled leader.

He would have to distract her; draw her away from the door!

Oldster thought hard, gears spinning _rapidly_ in his head as he formulated a plan.

  
  


There was a door on the left wall in the dead-end hallway. If he was right, then the other door in the queen's room led to the same room. He could lead the queen into her room, then he would escape back out through the room next door, and get to the third floor to warn the Cabinet Minister!

Acting quickly, the old man pulled himself away and closed the door hard enough for the queen to hear.

  
  


_“Who's there!? Who dares enter my home!?”_ a distorted, echoing voice shrieked.

  
  


Oldster hurried for the door on the right wall, swiftly moving into the room behind the entrance and closing the door behind himself.

It was then that he noticed torn blue wallpaper, a door on the other side of the room, a rocking horse that _moved on its own,_ a toy train set, a plush chair, a table, a yellow box with a purple ribbon and three red balloons attached, and-

  
  


A _crib._

_This was a_ **nursery.**

  
  


Oldster felt his nerves rattle _ever so slightly._

  
  


_Focus!_

  
  


Shaking his head to get over his shock, the soldier turned and cracked the door open slightly, peering out into the queen's bedroom. The first thing he noticed was that his cape had gotten caught in the door that led out to the hallway, and came off without him noticing.

_Rats..._ Well, it was too late to get it, now. The queen could come through that door at any second!

Gently closing the door he was peering out of, Oldster slowly backed away in the direction of the crib, carefully moving around the table with the running train set to get to the door on the opposite side of the room.

  
  


_The room distorted._

  
  


He turned around.

  
  


The dreadful queen emerged from behind the door he had been heading for. Her piercing gaze _locked_ onto him, rage and disgust **oozing** from the glare she gave him.

She let out an _ear-piercing_ _screech_ and made a **mad dash** for the soldier.

Oldster _yelled,_ backing away from the queen and against a wall with a hand over his chest.

  
  


_His heart was about to_ **leap out of it.**

  
  


An icy chill **pierced** his skin as the queen's frigid hands seized his shoulders.

  
  


**He could feel the ice encasing his body; each second was _unbearable torture._**

  
  


_**He only hoped the Cabinet Minister would be able to escape from this horrible place.** _

  
  


* * *

_Shady Sunburnt, the Third Floor_

* * *

  
  


_Where was that blasted key!?_

Shady had been in the process of searching for the key for the next floor in the right side of the third floor for a good minute or two. So far, he had searched through every single room, checking beneath broken furniture, inside a cupboard, and even searched through the insides of a torn-up chair, but to no avail. Now he was checking the books on a bookcase, his glowing green eyes peeking quickly at each one, before placing them back on the shelf.

He was getting frustrated; where did she put that accursed key-

_"Who's there!? Who dares enter my home!?"_

A _dreadful_ voice screamed from the floor below, nearly making him jump out of his skin. A chill ran down the Cabinet Minister's spine the moment he heard the noise; he had _no doubt_ in his mind that that was the former queen of Subcon.

The Cabinet Minister was _struck_ with fear.

He hadn't found any sign of _any_ sort of key, anywhere on the third floor! He couldn't pick the gigantic lock with his tiny tools, and _none_ of the windows would budge!

  
  


_Something_ **screeched** _with unbridled rage, and was followed by a horrified yell._

_Then, there was silence._

  
  


Shady turned towards where the screams had come from as a terrifying realization came upon him.

  
  


The key might be _downstairs._ Where the queen undoubtedly was _lying in wait._

He could try breaking a window open; there was a massive one on the right wall of the room he was in. He could grab that vase he saw in the hallway next door and chuck it right through the glass!

Hope filling him at the thought, Shady quickly looked through the window, trying to spot the ground below.

Much to his dismay, he spotted only a long fall that would end with him rolling off of the porch roof and landing _straight_ on the ice stalagmites that surrounded the manor.

  
  


_… He_ **had** _to go back downstairs, didn't he?_

  
  


Taking a deep breath, the tyrant left the right side of the third floor and traced his way back to the staircase to the second floor. Now wary, the Cabinet Minister descended the staircase, his glowing green eyes peering down the hallways-

Immediately, the usurper _froze_ as they spotted an _ice statue of Thor_ straight down the hallway to his left.

  
  


_Oh, this was_ **not** _good._ **He needed to get the _heck_ out of there-**

  
  


Further down the hallway, Shady noticed a door near the first-floor staircase open, and a dark haze _flowing_ out of it like mist flowing over a pond in the early morning.

Panic set in. Immediately, the Cabinet Minister scampered down the dead-end hall and scrambled through the door to his immediate left. The hooded man turned quickly around once the door was shut and-

  
  


_Oldster._

  
  


Shuddering involuntarily, the tyrant edged forward towards the frozen man, unable to tear his gaze off of the soldier.

Oldster, one of his most loyal followers, who had helped the usurper gain control of the desert kingdom and aided him in all of his endeavors...

_Now, he was nothing more than another sculpture for the queen's collection._

Shady's mind kicked into high-gear as he quickly analyzed his current predicament.

Oldster and Thor were _frozen,_ he had _no idea_ where Tim was, and he couldn't escape to the third floor, or go down to the first floor...

  
  


_**He needed to get the heck out of here!** _

  
  


Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some windows on the right wall.

He wasn't sure how high up he was from the porch roof; he could _still_ end up slipping and meet certain doom. But compared to the certain demise he was _sure_ he'd meet if the queen found him, the slim chance of him not falling off of the porch and onto the frigid spikes was _far_ more appealing.

  
  


_Those windows would have to do!_

  
  


Quick as a wink, he rushed for the window furthest to the left, shaking the muntins _vigorously._ Unfortunately for him, the window was set firmly in place, giving no leeway for the tyrant. Gritting his teeth, he started moving to the window on his right, turning quickly to-

The door on the same side as Oldster's frozen body _opened._

Shady backed up between the two windows. Fear filled his body to the brim as he stared at the emerging figure of none other than _Queen Vanessa._

The two red orbs that were her eyes _immediately_ locked with the Cabinet Minister's green ones.

_Pure terror_ shot through his being as she ran towards him, her hands outstretched and ready to **wrap around his neck.**

The man screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the cold embrace of **death** as he desperately cried out.

“WAIT! _WAIT!_ I KNOW WHERE YOUR PRINCE IS!”

  
  


_… Nothing happened._

  
  


Slowly, the usurper opened his eyes, finding the gnarled hands **inches away from his neck.**

The queen stood there, her gaze trained _directly_ on the hooded man. Distorted words echoed from her- though her voice had grown more quiet- as she addressed what he had said.

_“You know where my prince is?”_ the queen asked, her voice echoing with distortion as she spoke.

Frightened like a mouse cornered by a cat, the Cabinet Minister nodded. “Y-Yes, _yes!_ I do, Your Majesty!” he stuttered, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture.

Gradually, the queen pulled her hands away from the man's throat.

_"Where is he? Tell me!"_ the shadowy monarch demanded, her piercing gaze more chilling than the cold that filled the manor.

Shady gulped, before stammering a response. “H-He's been hiding in the- in the forest this _whole_ time!"

  
  


For a few seconds, the queen did nothing.

_"The forest..."_ she murmured, as though she were deep in thought. _"I knew he was in the forest..."_

As best as he could, given the circumstances, he spoke in a faux-friendly tone hinted with fright.

"Y-Yes, the forest," Shady stuttered, wringing his two-fingered hands, "he's been there for quite a- quite a while!"

All of a sudden, an idea popped into the Cabinet Minister's head.

"I-I can take you to him!” he suddenly cried. "I know where he's at, right now!"

The queen stared at him, mulling over what he said.

“Let me show you!" the tyrant offered, hope filling him as the frigid monarch pondered. "H-He's out in the forest, and he's taken on a new name-”

The queen gently put her hands on his shoulders. For a split-second, the bespectacled man thought the gesture was _friendly_ in nature.

  
  


**Oh, how** _**wrong**_ **he was.**

  
  


A _painful cold_ began spreading across his body, pricking his skin like needles.

_"DON'T LIE TO ME!"_ the queen screeched, fury echoing from her distorted voice. _"You're trying to trick me so you can run away!"_

Shady stepped back, holding up a finger on each hand as he tried to pull away from the queen's grip.

“N-No, no, _wait a minute-!”_

Before he could utter another word, the tyrant's body was _surrounded_ by ice. Terror emanated from him as he helplessly grew stiff, unable to move as the magical ice spread swiftly across his body. Pain **erupted** all across his body as the cold **fiercely** bit him through his clothes, the frost freezing him stiff.

His body was both **screaming** in **agony** and _**going numb**_ at the same time.

  
**He couldn't die like this.**

_**He didn't want to die like this!** _

_Before his vision succumbed to eternal darkness, the last thing the Cabinet Minister saw were those two red orbs,_ **glaring** _at him with **unbridled, icy hatred.**_

_**In just a few short seconds, Shady Sunburnt's tyrannical reign over the desert came to an end.** _

Satisfied with her new statue, Queen Vanessa quickly exited back through the door she came in from, heading straight through her bedroom and out into the hall. Down the staircase and through the parlor she went, before she entered the first floor hallway and _charged_ towards the entrance doors. One gnarled, frigid hand **gripped** the doorknobs and turned them desperately as she _**hurled**_ herself into the doors.

  
  


**_The front doors burst open without resistance._ **

Stepping down the stairs and passed her loyal ice statues, the former queen of Subcon locked her glowing red eyes upon the broken gates in the distance.

_"I am coming for you, my prince."_

  
  


* * *

**Subcon Forest**

* * *

  
They had pushed the soldiers back to the path in front of the bridge. In the chaos of battle, the ghostly villagers had a _clear_ advantage over the battaile.

During the discord, one of the soldiers accidentally sliced off the head of an angel statue to the right of the bridge. Anne- being the _rambunctious_ person she was- took the stone head in her hand and _chucked it_ right at an unfortunate soldier, the head shattering to pieces upon impact as the soldier was brutally knocked down from the force of the throw.

Cherry bombs rained down upon the battle, below. They didn't hurt the ghosts, but they sure sent the infantry and dragoons flying about!

Snatcher couldn't help but grin widely as the ghosts of Subcon Forest easily _swept the floor_ with their enemies. He was _so_ enthused that- after quickly and _thoroughly_ scanning the area- he shifted down into human form, summoned his sword with a snap of his fingers, and rushed right into battle with Earl Quin! A wide, fanged grin was on the human ghost's face as he held an arm behind his back and parried each of the earl's strikes, dodging stabs and slashed swiftly and gracefully, the prince's steps lofty as he moved about and delivered his own blows to the battaile's leader.

The Snatcher's yellow eyes _gleamed_ with delight and cunning, his expression sly and smug at the same time.

What could be seen of Quin's face- his eyes- clearly showed the man's frustration with the clearly one-sided battle. He _growled,_ both of his hands gripping his sword as he _violently_ slashed at the human specter, in an attempt to injure the ghost in _any_ way.

  
  


Which went as well as expected; the earl's blows did _nothing_ to the Snatcher.

Snatcher combated his opponent with ease, focusing more on sensing everything around the forest in his surroundings. As he concentrated more and more, he realized he was starting to sense more things than just _souls,_ though he wasn't _entirely_ sure what he was sensing.

  
  


Perhaps-

  
  


His train of thought was cut off as he ducked underneath the earl's blade, forcing his own sword up against the assaulting weapon as he sprung up and pushed the armored man backwards. Spinning his weapon between his fingers, the prince flashed a smile and spun about on a heel, sending the earl flying back with a spin attack.

  
  


Perhaps the ice that _Lewis_ had sent flying at Aureola caused the maned ghost to suddenly gain this new ability? He wasn't sure _why_ this would be the case, but it seemed that this was what had _happened._

_Did that mean he was sensing_ **magic?**

  
  


Glancing at the bridge to the frozen section of Subcon Forest, the specter swiftly stepped to the side to avoid being run over by the earl charging at him. The former prince's gaze never strayed from the frozen landscape, even as he side-stepped another charge from the armored man.

Ever since he started sensing souls- even before he realized that what he was sensing _was_ souls- he had noticed something unusual about the frozen parts of the former kingdom of Subcon.

_He needed to focus to be able to sense anything beyond the bridge._

Passively, he was _always_ able to sense souls that entered his forest; this was not something unusual for him, at this point.

But what he had learned from the first time _Vanessa_ had attacked the new village was that he wasn't able to sense her _passively_ when she was on the frozen-over side of the bridge. It was like something was _obscuring her presence_ in the frigid landscape. The only way he could sense where she was was if he _actively focused_ on trying to sense her soul in the iced-over land.

  
  


_Now, he understood why that was._

  
  


He was now sensing some kind of invisible haze of _presumably_ magic. The entire area past the bridge _teemed_ with it, and the unnatural snowfall made it _worse._

Which- given that his newfound ability to sense things like that was weak and made the unusual energy he sensed feel faint- meant that the area on the other side of the bridge felt like it was absolutely _flooded_ with magic.

_Heavens, he sincerely hoped that was as strong as this new sense would get._ The magic on the other side of the ravine was _already_ strong enough for him to clearly sense it; he didn't want to imagine how _overwhelmed_ his senses might get if his newfound perception of magic got stronger-

  
  


All of a sudden, the Snatcher **froze.**

  
  


Due to having most of his attention on sensing the powerful magic in the area past the bridge, his heightened focus in trying to make sense of it all had allowed him to clearly sense _everything in the area,_ including _her_ manor.

  
  


_Consternation contorted his face into a wide-eyed, panicked expression._

  
  


**_Vanessa_ had left the manor.**

  
  


Earl Quin rushed forward, slashing at the ghost's human body, only for the ghost to jump away and shift back into his serpentine form.

  
  


_**“STOP!”** _

  
  


The specter's booming, urgent command made the villagers cease in their fighting, all of them whirling about to face their prince. What remained of the battaile also spun around, startled by the sudden order from their foe.

The earl grit his teeth. “Don't you tell me what to-”

  
  


_**“She's coming,”**_ the Snatcher explained, his anxious frown and large glowing eyes emphasizing the severity of what he said.

  
  


The villagers immediately shifted back into their ghostly forms, and rose up into the air.

“'She's coming'?” Quin repeated in an irritated tone. “What are you- hey!”

Ignoring the earl, the specter of Subcon Forest bolted through the air to his people.

**“You know the drill; get to the well,”** the specter whispered to the villagers.

Nodding quickly, the ghosts of Subcon Forest darted off to the swamp. Selene, Raymond, Frederick, and Aureola frantically dove down from the trees to follow them.

As the Snatcher darted towards the bridge, Quin growled, aggravated by the prince's refusal to acknowledge him.

“What do you think you're _doing!?”_ the earl barked in outrage. “I _demand_ that you-”

  
  


Without warning, the Snatcher snapped his own blade away and spun around, making _direct eye contact_ with the leader of the battaile.

**“I may _despise_ you _and_ your Cabinet Minister for what you've done to the desert's prince,”** the shadowy specter hissed, **“but I'm not trying to _kill_ you. I just want you _out of my forest,_ and to leave the the prince and his people _alone.”_**

Suddenly, he looked towards the bridge, pointing a sharpened talon at a dark, malevolent haze far in the distance.

**_“She,_ on the other hand, will _not_ hesitate to _freeze you and your men solid,”_** he explained, his glowing eyes narrowing in anger at the darkness.

The ghost's words made the earl's anger subside, somewhat. Slowly, the armored man sheathed his blade as he took a step back.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Snatcher observed the battaile for a brief moment, before he said one last thing to them all.

  
  


**“Leave my forest. I will deal with the ice witch, _personally._ Now, _go!”_**

  
  


The darkness grew closer, shadows stretching out to the bridge as the former queen's glaring red eyes locked right onto the inky ghost.

Fright washed over the soldiers as they heard an _inhuman_ **shriek of fury** echo from the queen.

“Retreat!” Earl Quin yelled.

The soldiers stampeded as they dashed towards the new Subcon Village, aiming to escape by climbing out from the slope they had previously slid down to get there, in the first place.

  
  


The Snatcher, meanwhile, grew massive, his fingers sharpening into claws as his fanged mouth shifted into a glowing yellow of pure, _unbridled_ **hatred.**

  
  


_“Where is he!?”_ Vanessa screeched. _“I **know** you're hiding him!”_

  
  


Clenching a clawed hand, the maned ghost soon opened it, a small blue flame flaring up from his palm.

**“You _still_ haven't realized it, have you?”** he snarled. **“Your prince is _dead and gone. Because of you.”_**

* * *

“We can't get up the slope!” one soldier reported to Earl Quin. “There's nowhere else to go!”

Earl Quin grit his teeth, his gloved fist clenched tightly as his eyes darted from one part of the village to the next. “Find another way!” he ordered the battaile.

_“There is none!”_ a dragoon yelled. “The walls are too steep!”

Growling frantically, the earl turned towards the much shorter raised land that led to the swamp.

“Climb that one, then!” Quin ordered.

Without any hesitation, the entire battaile rushed in the swamp's direction, scaling the shorter dirt wall that blocked their path with ease. As the last of the battaile was pulled up to safety, they soon noticed a wooden bridge leading over the murky swamp.

  
  


_An explosion_ **thundered** _from nearby._

  
  


Distracted from their attempt to escape, the battaile and their leader turned back in the direction of the bridge.

  
  


Blue flames surged across the ground as the Snatcher fought against the former queen of Subcon, the latter screaming **furiously** while the former **roared with rage.** Large beams of energy rose from the ground, sending the darkened figure of the queen _flying_ back over the bridge as the specter unleashed attack after attack against her.

  
  


In that moment, the entire battaile realized something that _struck the soldiers to their very core._

  
  


**At any time, the Snatcher could have unleashed that power upon them all.**

_**He had been holding back on them.** _

  
  


_“RUN!”_

  
  


Fear battering their senses, the soldiers and earl _darted_ over the thin, wooden bridge, aiming to cross the swamp and find another way back to the canyon beyond the forest.

The explosions in the distance **boomed** and **echoed** in a **thunderous cacophony,** deafening even the soldiers from the dreadful noise. It was _so_ loud, none of the soldiers heard the wood underneath their feet _buckling from their weight._

In seconds, the bridge collapsed, sinking _straight_ into the muck and taking the soldiers down with it.

The battaile screamed and yelled, panic taking over as their metal armor made their movements difficult in the mud.

“Grab onto something!”

“I can't _move!”_

“Grab a ledge!”

“Grab a root!”

Flailing wildly in an attempt to grab onto anything, the battaile sunk further and _further_ into the mud of the swamp. Soon, the murky substance was up to their chests, then their shoulders, then their _necks._

Earl Quin cried out, frantic as he reached for what remained of the turned-over bridge by the edge of the swamp.

_But with his heavy armor, his attempts were_ **in vain.**

  
  


**With the explosions and enraged shouts of the Snatcher and Vanessa, _no one heard the soldier's terrified screams as they sank below the swamp's surface._**

* * *

_His entire focus was on **Vanessa,** right now._

  
  


_Getting the wretched queen sealed back inside of her manor was his **highest priority.**_

  
  


But as he fought against the frigid former monarch, the Snatcher was momentarily struck with a sudden thought.

  
  


A plan formed in his mind; if he could pull it off, _he would be able to end the queen's reign of terror,_ **once and for all!**

  
  


Flying up out of the ice witch's reach, the Snatcher furrowed his non-existent brow, his yellow eyes narrowing further in _intense concentration_ as he pointed a talon-like finger **directly** at the queen.

  
  


_**He wanted her soul!** _

  
  


Lightning flashed and struck the queen many, _many_ times, in a bright, vibrant display...

  
  


…

  
  


_But nothing happened._ No soul flew out, though he could _sense_ it was still inside of her _twisted,_ **corrupted form.**

He _immediately_ realized what this meant.

  
  


_**He couldn't take Vanessa's soul.** _

  
  


The maned ghost of Subcon Forest flew to the side, dodging a wave of ice that Vanessa sent _right at him._ The specter's yellow eyes grew huge with fright, before they narrowed **angrily** at her.

… Well, if he couldn't take her _soul,_ he could _at least_ force her back into that **accursed** manor!

Snapping his clawed fingers, the ghost summoned a wall of blue flames, sending it racing across the ground and over the magic ice. Instantly, the frozen wave melted into nothing more than a puddle.

Though he was enraged by her assault, deep down, he still felt **terrified** of the queen.

She had hurt him _so badly,_ _controlled_ what he did, what he _said,_ what he _ate..._

And now, she wanted nothing more than to _hurt him,_ again! She didn't even realize he was the _prince,_ and she _still_ wanted to inflict _pain_ upon him!

The sound of ice cracking snapped him out of his thoughts. The ghost darted to the side as icy stalagmites _shot up_ from the ground at him, his quick action making the crystals miss him by **inches.**

_He was getting tired._ All of the teleporting, the blasts, the fire... it was starting to _wear him down._

_He couldn't keep fighting, like this._

_He was_ **so afraid** _that he **wouldn't be able to stop her.**_

  
_"I will find him!"_ Vanessa shrieked with acrimony. _"I won't let you, or the villagers, or those **sniveling brats** keep me from my prince!_ _I'll freeze you all **solid,** if that's what it takes!"_

  
Her words made the specter _stop in his tracks._

  
_She was threatening the_ **villagers,** _the_ **children.**

**She was going to hurt _his people._**

_**His family.** _

  
His vision _tunneled,_ darkening _greatly_ as it centered on the queen. The glowing scowl upon his face grew _gigantic_ as his eyes _narrowed,_ his features plainly displaying the **animus** that _**boiled**_ inside of his inky, spectral body. His fear was subdued as **rage** **consumed his _entire being._**

  
With one stentorian roar, the Snatcher's _burning,_ **white-hot** _**ire**_ **was _unleashed in full-force._**

_**"DON'T YOU DARE THREATEN MY PEOPLE, YOU REPULSIVE HAG!"** _

The newfound energy that was _coursing_ through his ghostly being wiped away his exhaustion, his desire to protect his people **stronger** than any tiredness he felt. With _strengthened,_ **enraged _resolve,_** the Snatcher dove into the ground and lurched up in front of the queen.

A sudden shockwave surged out in a circle from where the Snatcher appeared. The force was enough to send Vanessa flying back over to the frigid side of the bridge.

_Well, that was new._

  
  


His rage keeping him from questioning the new power any further, the ghost directed his attention back to the darkened queen. Without missing a beat, the inky ghost summoned beam after beam of energy, the explosions **shaking** the area as they burst from the ground beneath the queen's feet, and sent her flying **further and further** into the air.

Vanessa _shrieked_ and _screamed_ and _howled_ as she was sent higher and _higher_ into the air, unable to control her unexpected flight.

All the while, the Snatcher's face **twisted** as he darted up at the queen.

**“Do us all a favor, you heartless _ice witch,”_** he growled at her, **“and-”**

With one swift strike, the Snatcher's clawed hand **collided** with the former queen, sending her _soaring_ through the air and towards the icy dome that surrounded her manor.

  
  


_**“GET LOST!”** _

  
  


A shrieking, _earsplitting_ sound was heard as the queen smashed through the dome, the ice **splitting apart** and tumbling down beneath her weight. Vanessa fell down through the newly-formed hole in the dome, _**crashing**_ right onto the roof of her manor and rolling straight down into the thick snow on the ground.

Not letting up for even a second, the Snatcher flew over the hole and willed one final beam in front of the queen, using his telekinesis to **force** the manor's front doors open.

Vanessa only had a _second_ to register what was happening, before a _massive_ beam of energy **shot up** from the ground, sending her _**flying**_ past the open doors.

He shut them in an instant, and willed a _humongous_ pile of snow up against the doors, making it bigger and _bigger,_ until nearly the _whole entrance_ was filled with compacted, frigid powder.

Slowly, the Snatcher wiped his hands, before he shrunk down to his smaller size. Exhaustion _almost completely_ took control of him; _he nearly passed out, then and there!_

  
  


**But his people...**

_**He needed to know they were safe.** _

  
  


Forcing himself to stay conscious, the prince of the forest floated away from the frigid part of the forest and towards the swamp.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Deep inside of the Subcon Well, the villagers of Subcon Forest and the children took shelter together, some of the adults- like Frederick- pacing nervously in the air, while some- like Diana and Gwendolyn- stood guard. The rest stayed near the children, reassuring the frightened little ones that everything would be okay.

They had heard gigantic, _thunderous_ explosions coming from outside; massive, earth-shaking _eruptions_ that made the children huddle closer to one another, some of them silently crying out in panic as bits of earth fell from the dirt ceiling above them. Ophelia and Julio had worked to quell the children's fears, Aureola joining in, seconds later.

  
  


_Eventually, the explosions stopped, and all was silent._

  
  


“Do you think he's okay?” Selene asked, her arms wrapped around her ghostly tail in a similar fashion to how one would hug their legs.

“My girl, I'm sure he's fine,” William soon replied, sitting down next to the carpenter to pat her shoulder.

Diana nodded firmly as they glanced up at the hole in the ceiling. “The lad's tough,” the blacksmith agreed. “He'll be fine against _her.”_

Suddenly, Zacharias threw their arms into the air. “I'm _sick_ of waiting!” the milled complained. “Let's just go up there and check to see if it's safe!”

“It's only been a couple of minutes since the explosions stopped,” Joseph quietly pointed out.

“I don't _care!_ Let's just look!” Zacharias loudly suggested.

“Hold your horses,” Clarissa responded, “it's too soon. Just wait a bit longer.”

Grumbling to themselves, Zacharias crossed their arms and hunched down slightly.

Sighing slightly, Julio rubbed his hands and followed Diana's gaze up to the top of the well.

  
  


… Both the gardener and the blacksmith's eyes grew _huge_ as they spotted a glowing yellow face floating down towards them.

_Julio was the first to speak._

  
  


“Snatcher?” the gardener inquired, that one word making every single ghost in the room _snap_ to attention and face towards the well's entrance as the inky phantom descended into view.

Slowly, the drained phantom spun in place to gaze over his people.

  
  


_His family._ **They were all safe. _Every single one of them._**

  
  


The children all tried to fly over to him, but upon noticing the fatigue look on their ruler's darkened face, the adults immediately rushed to hold the children back.

Silently, the Snatcher directed his gaze towards the children.

  
  


_He could feel their **immense joy** and **relief** upon seeing him. Heck, he could just **imagine** the happy little faces they would be making..._

  
  


Slowly, the adults floated over into his field of vision, all of them staring at him in concern. Their figurative brows furrowed with worry as small frowns appeared on their faces.

“Are you all right, boss?” Zacharias asked.

  
  


_**His family was safe.** _

  
  


The specter's yellow eyes shrunk slightly, becoming half-lidded as they focused on one of the children that was staring right at him.

_Penelope._

_Penelope_ was staring at him, tears threatening to fall from their mask's eyes.

  
  


_There was still residual fear_ **emanating** _from their tiny form._

**They had been _so frightened..._**

  
  


Faintly, the corners of his glowing mouth twitched upwards in a tiny smile.

  
  


_**“Everything is okay...”** _

  
  


The Snatcher's glowing eyes closed completely, and his smile shifted into a thin line. The yellow glow of his face vanished, leaving only an inky, dark, _featureless_ face as the maned specter went limp.

**_A large splash echoed through the well as he crashed into the water below._ **


	21. The Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminisce about better days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had to do a lot of research for this chapter, using blogs and stuff like https://writingwithcolor.tumblr.com/ to help me describe things like skin, hair, nose, etc.
> 
> The amount of research I had to do alone is the biggest reason why this chapter took so long.
> 
> That being said, definitely give the blog a look. They have excellent guides on writing characters of different races by people of different races, and guides on what to do and what not to do!)

The bright afternoon sun bathed the kingdom of Subcon in its golden light, the warm rays countering the cold breeze that blew through. All through the village, the adults were hard at work with preparations for the coming festival, finishing up gifts for each other and the masked, cloaked children that darted between houses and ran through the streets.

The most delightful scents wafted from the window of Ophelia's bakery as Ophelia prepared countless sweets, her strawberry-blond hair tied back as she worked. Her smooth, sandy face was alight with cheer as she kneaded dough for éclairs. Pies, cakes, strudels, and other sweet delights lined the counter-tops of her kitchen, fresh out of the oven and ready for eating. A cheerful tune escaped her lips as she moved over to an oven to check up on some of the delicious pastries that were baking inside.

Right underneath the baker's window, a mop of messy, black hair slowly rose up, followed by a pair of wisteria eyes and a button nose. Zacharias' eyes lit up with childish glee the moment they caught a glimpse of the countless pastries. Their mouth started watering as they stood on their toes, their mask pushed to the side of their head as they gazed longingly at the sweet, fruit-filled treats.

Soon enough, another child popped up near them, brown hair framing their antlered mask.

“Anne, help me up!” Zacharias whispered to the child.

Anne moved her mask up, carnelian red eyes shining with pure energy as a gigantic, eager smile stretched across her face. Warm ivory fingers netted themselves together as the child knelt down, allowing Zacharias to step onto her hands for support and a boost.

“Geez, Zacharias, you're heavy!” Anne grunted.

 _“Quiet!”_ they harshly murmured, struggling to stay up above the windowsill. “She'll hear us!”

As the children attempted to sneak a few pastries from the bakery, the village's schoolteachers strolled down the street, in the midst of discussing their shopping list for the children's science class. Frederick's aquiline nose wrinkled, his stone-gray eyes focused on Raymond as they discussed the science teacher's questionable supply list.

“- and I don't really see how you would need _a few hundred teacups_ for _one_ experiment,” Raymond complained, stroking their beard slowly as they spoke.

Frederick quickly offered a rebuttal, pointing a chubby, tawny brown finger directly at his fellow teacher. “Well, I don't see why _you_ need one _thousand_ pencils,” the scientist countered, “we don't even _have_ that many students!”

A clear frown stretched across Raymond's olive-hinted face as they turned their head towards him. “Frederick, you know what the children are like!” they argued, staring straight at the man. “They go through pencils like-”

  
  


Raymond suddenly held an arm out in front of Frederick, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hold on,” they told him, pointing towards the two children attempting to scale the bakery window. “It seems like we have a robbery in progress!”

  
  


Simultaneously, the two teachers glanced at each other. They both smiled, Frederick raising an even, thick eyebrow while Raymond raised both of their bushy, curved ones.

  
  


“I'll get the accomplice,” Frederick stated.

“And I'll grab the mastermind!” Raymond playfully announced, their short, light brown locs bouncing as the two darted towards the children.

  
  


Zacharias reached a hand out over the window sill, their fingers just centimeters away from a plate of strudel. “Almost... there...!”

A pair of freckled, light brown hands suddenly lifted the child up from underneath their arms, causing them to shout in surprise. Not a second later, Anne _shrieked_ as a chubby arm wrapped around her and hoisted her into the air.

  
  


“You know, I didn't take you two for the stealing types!” Raymond joked, turning Zacharias around so the child could face them.

Anne started flailing as Frederick carried her underneath his arm, the scientist's frizzy, curly ponytail flowing in the gentle wind. “Neither did I!” the scientist laughed, “You think you know a person; stealing sweets from the baker...”

“What is going on, out there!?” Ophelia suddenly called, rushing over to the window to peer outside.

The teachers grinned as they held the wannabe thieves, Frederick swinging Anne around to get her to laugh.

“Just thwarting a burglary,” Raymond teased, lifting a sulking Zacharias up above their head. “We caught these little troublemakers trying to snag a few sweets.”

Frederick swung Anne up into the air, the child screaming with laughter as she flew up, before landing in both of the scientist's arms. “So we did our civic duty and caught them for you!” he finished for his fellow teacher.

Ophelia chuckled, her winged eyebrows raised as she shook her head. “Oh, thank you both,” she thanked the teachers, “would you be dears and send them on home?”

Without missing a beat, Raymond lowered Zacharias down to hold the child with one arm, and salute the baker with their free hand. “Raymond and Frederick, at your service, madam!” they declared with a childish grin, their deep green eyes gleaming with cheer.

Frederick lifted Anne up over his shoulder and mimicked Raymond's salute. “We'll take these _scoundrels_ straight back to their homes!” the scientist exclaimed.

Ophelia's amber eyes were bright with amusement as she let out a cheery laugh. “You two are _angels,_ ” the baker remarked.

A sudden ding startled the baker back to attention. “Oh, my pastries!” she cried, rushing away from the window to retrieve the finished sweets from the oven.

“We never get to do anything fun,” Zacharias grumbled, their soft-angled eyebrows furrowed deeply as they pouted.

A cheerful smile appeared on Raymond's face as they ruffled the child's hair. “Better luck next time, you little troublemaker,” they laughed, “Now, let's get you both to your parents!”

Raymond strode forward, the amused expression on their face betraying the confident, proud stride they were pretending to have. Frederick, meanwhile, held onto Anne with a hand and followed Raymond with a hop in his step, the action causing the man's ponytail to bounce, and producing no small amount of laughter from the child on his shoulder.

  
  


Slate-colored eyes peered out from behind the bakery. Silent as could be, Gwendolyn emerged and peeked through the window, watching Ophelia set down a pie before the baker left the room. With her taller height, the girl easily reached through the window and snatched some strudel from the counter on the other side. Grasping her ill-gotten prizes, the older child darted between some nearby houses, her short, platinum-blond hair flapping behind her as she went.

Sitting on a bench nearby, Joseph swung his legs happily, his little fox mask in his lap as he hummed quietly to himself. The boy's mousy brown hair was neatly parted down the middle and smoothed to a sheen; something his mother had done for him, moments prior. Soon, his eyes lit up upon noticing the fast-approaching Gwendolyn, and he pushed himself off the bench to meet her. One glance at the strudel was all it took to make a huge smile stretch across the child's fuzzy, fawn-colored face.

“You got them!” he immediately cried, holding his hands out to take the strudel from Gwendolyn. “Thanks!”

The two sat down on the bench, Joseph's face soon covered in the sticky strudel as he ate, while Gwendolyn practically scarfed her own strudel down, not wasting a second to lick her fingers. Her quick eating made Joseph pause and stare, a thin, rounded eyebrow raised in confusion.

“... How did you get these, anyway?” the boy asked.

Gwendolyn turned her head and stared Joseph directly in his jade-green eyes. Her thin, even eyebrows contributed to her serious gaze as she answered monotonously.

“Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to.”

As Joseph's cheerful, round face displayed a look of realization and horror at what Gwendolyn's answer meant, Ophelia's normally-cheerful voice sternly rang out as she poked her head out from the bakery's window.

“Children, who stole my strudel?” the motherly woman asked in a stern tone.

Immediately, Gwendolyn's response was to stare at Ophelia and point at Joseph.

Joseph responded with wide-eyed horror as he pointed at Gwendolyn, then turned his head to see Gwendolyn pointing at him. Utter betrayal etched its way onto his face. He promptly burst into tears.

“N-No, it wasn't- it wasn't me-!” the child bawled, “Gwendolyn took them!”

Tutting quietly, the baker rushed outside to chastise the children for stealing pastries. “You two should know better-”

A calloused, tawny-beige hand rested upon Ophelia's shoulder, silencing the baker in an instant. She turned about and leaned her head back to see the freckled, square face of Clarissa. The woodcutter flashed a confident grin, their thick, hard-angled eyebrows raised in an amused- yet confident- manner.

“Ophelia, I can vouch for Joseph,” Clarissa announced, the tall, muscular woman resting her foot on the bench seat as she leaned down towards the children. Deep brown eyes gazed at the two, before they rested upon the frowning face of Gwendolyn. “I saw the whole thing; poor lad had _no_ idea Gwendolyn swiped the sweets.”

Joseph sniffled, his tiny nose wrinkling momentarily as he wiped his tear-filled eyes.

Gwendolyn's lips thinned in disappointment as she stared back at Clarissa in annoyance.

Without any hesitation, Clarissa mussed up Joseph's smooth hair and stood up straight, a curly, auburn ponytail falling over her shoulder. “Sorry, Gwen,” the woodcutter apologized, “I may be fun-loving, but I'm not a liar.”

As the woodcutter walked away, Ophelia glared sternly at Gwendolyn, who immediately turned her head away from the baker in embarrassment.

  
  


Across the street, the short stature of none other than William stepped outside of his home with a completed tapestry hanging from his arm. In the afternoon sun, the man's ivory skin took on a golden tone as he strolled over to the house next to his. Whistling to himself, the rosy-cheeked man gently knocked on the solid wood door.

“Horace!” William called, his voice gruff- yet joyful, “I've finished that tapestry you asked for!”

In about three seconds, the door was flung open as the tailor peered out, his round glasses perched upon his snub nose. Spotting the tapestry, Horace's face went alight with joy, the sun's warm light only contributing to the bronze glow that appeared on the man's sepia face.

“William!” the man exclaimed, patting the weaver's shoulder as he stepped out of his home. “You're not a moment too soon! I _just_ finished that new suit you needed!”

William's hazel eyes lit up with joy as he scratched the top of his big round nose. “Is that so?” the man chuckled, a bushy brow raised in amusement. “Well, I can't _wait_ to see how it turned out!”

The rotund tailor clasped his fuzzy hands together in delight and eagerly nodded, his wavy, raven hair fluttering about his shoulders. “Oh, I'm _sure_ you'll love it!” Horace soon replied, his fruity voice clearly heard above the sound of children laughing nearby. “The material you made for it was absolutely _exquisite!”_

Pride filled the weaver's features as he stood up tail, his braided brown hair swaying slightly as he placed a hand upon his chest. “But of course! I _am_ the best at making all types of fabrics,” the man boasted.

His flaming orange eyes filled with amusement, Horace wrapped an arm around William's shoulders. “I wouldn't trust any other person for weaving!” the tailor extolled. “Come on, now! I want to make sure your new suit fits _perfectly!”_

The two men were soon engaged in eager conversation as they walked into Horace's abode, chatting away about all types of projects they had planned as the door shut behind them.

The prince watched the bustling village with shining yellow eyes, excitement bubbling inside of him as he held his parents' hands and walked down the street. People were talking and laughing so happily as they went about their day, readied the decorations for the festival, or- in the case of the other children- ran around and played.

Though the thought of the festival was _already_ exciting enough, there was one other thing that filled the young noble to the _brim_ with energy.

_Today was the day that his new mask would be finished!_

The boy's auburn chestnut hair blew in the breeze and bounced with each step as he did his best to stay calm and be patient; a task that proved difficult for the boy, as his parents had told him they needed to stop by Diana's forge and Maurice's jewelry store for something.

  
  


He was a _bit_ curious about what they could possibly need from the smithy and jeweler, but the thought of wearing his brand-new mask distracted him from making any inquiries.

  
  


Nonetheless, the boy walked with a bounce in his step as he and his parents walked down the street, the villagers greeting them with a friendly wave and a cheerful “Hello!” as the royal family went by. Smiling brightly, the young boy let go of his mother's hand for a few brief seconds to wave and greet the people of Subcon, his face bright in the afternoon sun.

Seeing that he had nothing better to do while he waited for his parents to finish whatever errands they had, that day, the prince's curiosity took hold of his attention as he gazed up at his father and mother.

“Mother, Father,” the young prince soon inquired, “what do you need from Diana and Maurice?”

  
  


His parents gazed at one another and smiled- the kind of smile that grown-ups put on when they were hiding something- as they both answered their son.

  
  


“That is a secret-” his father began.

“- that you'll find out, soon enough,” his mother finished.

The young boy frowned, raising a curious eyebrow as he glanced between his mother and father.

Before he could question any further, his mother turned to them both and clasped her hands together. “I'll be at Maurice's, if you need me!” she cheerfully exclaimed, before ruffling the young prince's head. “You two stay out of trouble while I'm gone!”

Subcon's king chuckled, kissing his wife gently and nodding in response. “We will, dear, we will,” the monarch assured her, “We'll be waiting by Diana's, if you finish your errand before us.”

The queen smiled, patting the man's face gently before waving to the father and son as she headed for a nearby building.

The duo now alone, the king winked at the young boy and motioned to further down the street. “Now, let's get to Diana's, shall we?” he suggested, his tone hinted with eager cheer.

Returning the man's smile with one of his own, the young prince tugged on his father's arm, the man yelping a surprised “Whoa-!” as he was dragged along.

  
  


The young prince couldn't help it; he was _excited_ to get his new mask, and he didn't want to waste _any more time!_ Which meant they needed to hurry to the blacksmith's forge to get whatever his father needed to get from there!

  
  


“Slow down, son!” the man laughed, still holding the child's hand securely as he tried to keep up.

The prince immediately came to his senses, slowing down a bit so his father could keep up. “I'm sorry, Father,” he apologized, “I'm just _really_ excited to get my new mask. I want to wear it for the festival, this year!”

“I understand,” the king replied, ruffling the young boy's hair even further. “What we need from Diana's won't take very long- although, that depends on what _you_ want to do.”

The prince was about to ask what his father meant by that, but the king soon held a hand against his forehead as he peered down the street, and grinned widely as he spotted their destination. “Look now; we're almost there!” the monarch pointed out for the boy. “Let's hurry along so we can meet up with your mother.”

  
  


The echo of Diana's hammer rang out onto the street from the blacksmith's shop. As the father and son entered the forge, the young prince gazed at the countless weapons that lined the walls, each one expertly crafted and ready for use at a moment's notice. The counter where the smithy usually stood at was made of rough, carved stone, and was too tall for the boy to peer over. Fortunately for him, a nearby step stool was placed against the counter, which the child eagerly climbed up to see what was going on in the back of the forge.

The red-hot, molten light of a new axe blade cast a warm glow upon the scarred, wrinkled complexion of the blacksmith's face. They wiped their forehead clean of sweat, some beads managing to drip from their wide nose onto the anvil below. As their thin, round eyebrows furrowed with intense focus, the smithy raised their hammer high above their head and resumed shaping the metal of the soon-to-be weapon.

  
  


He was in awe; watching Diana shape hot metal into weapons was _mesmerizing._

  
  


The king and prince waited until the smithy finished forging the axe head, before the monarch stepped over to the counter. “Diana,” the man greeted with a warm, friendly smile, “how's business doing?”

The elderly blacksmith glanced up, locking their ocean blue eyes with the king's golden ones. “Your Majesty,” they greeted, a gentle smile on their face as they set their hammer down and wiped their face with a towel. Their eyes soon fell on the young prince, and the smithy immediately took off their gloves and knelt down in front of the boy. “Your Highness,” they addressed the prince, their smile growing bigger as they pat his head. “It's good to see you both back in my forge!”

The prince beamed, immediately scurrying over to give the old smithy a big hug. Diana responded by lifting the child up and placing their forehead against his, the wrinkled, deep brown of their skin contrasting the smooth, sandy peach of the prince's.

The blacksmith slowly pulled away, holding the prince up with a muscular arm as they turned their gaze back to the king. “How may I help you?”

The king chuckled, rubbing his hands together as he glanced at the various weapons that hung upon the forge's walls. “Well,” the king began, stroking his stubble-covered chin as he examined the weaponry, “while I was in the midst of polishing my sword, a couple of weeks ago, I started thinking about my son, and what a _fine young man_ he would grow up to be.”

In an instant, the boy's rosy cheeks grew redder. _“Father...”_ the boy quietly whined.

The king laughed, turning around to muss up his son's hair further. Above the protests of the young prince, the monarch resumed speaking to Diana. “So, I figured it's about time for him to get his own weapon.”

All of a sudden, the prince's complaining ceased. His yellow eyes widened as he lifted his father's hand off of his head. “Wait, _really?”_ the child asked, starry-eyed at the thought of having his own weapon.

Grinning widely, the king nodded to his son. “Yes, really!” the man replied. “Of course, you won't start training until you're _older,_ but it's always good to have a weapon, just in case.”

  
  


A new mask _and_ a weapon? It was like he was getting presents early!

  
  


Diana glanced down at the prince. “You look about ready to run around the entire village, sweetie,” the smithy laughed. “Want me to put you down?”

A quick nod from the boy answered their question. Obeying the young prince's desires, the blacksmith placed him down on the ground. The moment he was let loose, the young noble darted to his father's leg and hugged it tightly.

“Thank you, Father!” the boy cried, his words somewhat muffled due to the king's pants leg.

The boy's joy spread quickly to the king as he took a knee to return the hug. “Consider it an early birthday present from me,” he warmly said, his own golden eyes positively _gleaming_ with delight at his son's joy. “Now, I know you're eager to get that new mask, but how about we spend some time figuring out what kind of weapon is right for you?”

The prince pulled away, bouncing excitedly as he held his fists up in front of his chest. “A sword!” the boy shouted, before stopping and sheepishly smiling. “Uh, a sword, please!” he stated much more quietly, this time.

Diana let out a deep laugh as they grabbed a quill and parchment. “Have a seat, gentlemen,” they replied, letting their graying, coily bun down as they sat at a table. “Now, is there anything specific you had in mind for what you want it to look like?”

  
  


The young boy's eyes gleamed brightly as a huge smile stretched from ear to ear.

* * *

“What's wrong with him, Frederick?”

  
  


Inside of the massive tree that was the Snatcher's home, Diana and Julio hovered by the entrance as Frederick hurried about the plush armchair where the phantom sat. The ruler's inky face was bare of any yellow glow as he laid back in the chair, his thin arms limply hanging over the seat's armrests.

Zacharias, Anne, and Joseph had gone around to the parts of the forest that they had fought Shady's soldiers at, picking up random objects that had been dropped by their enemies and tidying the areas up. The other villagers had returned to Subcon Village, taking the children with them so they wouldn't have to see the ruler of the forest in such a state. Distant cries echoed from the village's direction, suggesting that the attempts of the adults to reassure the children that the formerly living prince would be okay had failed.

After examining the unconscious phantom for a few seconds longer, Frederick sighed and turned around to answer to the blacksmith's question.

“I don't know,” he quickly admitted, worry flooding his spectral eyes. “He _seems_ to be unconscious.”

Diana frowned, their coily graying hair flowing slightly as they approached the scientist. “This happened before, didn't it?” they recalled. “Years ago, when he made all of our possessions appear."

Frederick immediately nodded. “Yes, yes he did. But he was only unconscious for a few minutes.”

He motioned to the maned ghost as he turned to Julio and Diana. “He's been unconscious for _hours,_ now,” the schoolteacher reminded them, “and that's what concerns me.”

Julio's ghostly brow furrowed deeply. “Why would he take so long to wake up?” the gardener asked Frederick. “I don't understand.”

“I...” The scientist wrung his hands as he trailed off. “I'm not in a state to be theorizing; it's too soon, and right now, all of my focus is on doing what I can for Snatcher.”

In an instant, Julio's eyes widened, concern emanating from his features.

“But-” Frederick suddenly said, preventing Julio from getting out a single word of what he was going to say. “- the fact that his ghostly form is still here is a good sign that he _will_ wake up, eventually.”

“So it's just a matter of waiting,” Diana quietly realized, crossing their arms as they glanced at the unconscious ghost.

“Indeed!” Frederick replied. “For how long, I'm not sure, but if this is like last time, he will wake up.”

Julio held his chin, his worried gaze falling over the inky specter.

He frowned _deeply._

“We can only hope,” the gardener mumbled, shaking his head slightly as he moved over to pat the Snatcher's arm.

Diana followed his lead, floating around to the taller ghost's side to gently rest their forehead against his.

“You rest, sweetie,” the grandparent-like smithy murmured, their spectral brow furrowing deeply, “but you come back to us, you hear me?”

Gently, Frederick placed a hand on the blacksmith's shoulder. “I'll keep an eye on him, for tonight,” he told them. “The rest of you should get some sleep.”

Reluctantly, Diana pulled away from the inky ghost. With a small nod to Frederick, the blacksmith floated out of the tree home and made their way back to the village.

Julio sighed and shook his head, moving away from the specter and towards the vine-covered bridge. He paused for only a moment to glance back at Frederick.

  
  


“If _anything_ happens-”

“I'll come get you all,” the scientist assured the gardener.

  
  


Julio's mouth thinned as he nodded a few times, his gaze directed towards the ground momentarily. Eventually, the blue ghost made his way out of the tree home and cast his gaze skyward, losing himself to his thoughts as he gazed at the starry sky.

* * *

About twenty minutes after they had entered the forge, the king and his son walked out onto the street, both of them waving back at Diana as they left. The prince was absolutely _ecstatic,_ having thanked the king and smithy at _least_ fifteen times for letting the boy plan out what kind of sword he wanted.

  
  


_He couldn't wait to have his own sword!_

  
  


“Hup!”

For a brief second, the prince let out a startled “Whoa!” as the king lifted the boy up onto his shoulders. Soon, the child's surprise melted into laughter as he was carried back down the street to Maurice's jewelry store.

“Moon mask, moon sword... You're rather fond of the moon, aren't you?” his father teased.

The joking tone from his father didn't upset the boy a bit as he peered down over the man's head. “Of course!” the child replied, insulted that the monarch would assume anything else. “The moon is _magnificent!_ It changes phases and colors- depending on the time of the year and certain conditions, and there's the lunar eclipses! Plus, the moon is going to be a _blue moon,_ tonight! Not the regular kind of blue moon; the moon is actually going to _turn blue._ ”

A rather loud chuckle came from deep within the king as he approached the jewelry store. “That's fair enough,” the king finally said. Suddenly, the king's eyes grew huge and bright. “Say, we should head up to the Horizon with your mother, tonight, just to get a better look!”

The prince's face was practically _shining_ with _joy_ at the prospect. “With a telescope?” he quickly inquired.

“With a telescope!” was the man's reply.

“That would be _wonderful!”_ the boy cried. “May Aizat come with us? He's _really_ excited about the blue moon, too!”

“I don't see why not!”

As the two approached the front door to Maurice's store, the king lifted the young prince from his shoulders and set him down on the ground. A mischievous smile appeared on the man's face as he winked at his son. “If I know Maurice, they probably aren't finished,” he joked, taking the boy's hand.

A small frown appeared on the prince's face as he nodded in agreement. “Maurice is good at cutting gems, but they take _forever_ to do it!” the young prince sighed.

At that, the king's grin grew sheepish. “Aha, they do, don't they?” the man realized, rubbing the back of his head.

The same realization his father had suddenly hit the prince. “Father, they won't take _too_ long to finish whatever they're making for Mother... will they?” the young boy asked, unable to hide the worry in his tone.

A large hand messed up his hair. The prince screwed his eyes shut briefly, before lifting the hand up off of his head.

The king chuckled a bit, though slight concern hinted his features. “I'm certain that Maurice won't take long,” he reassured his son, “but in case they do, we might just have to slip out to get that mask of yours, hm?”

His worries quelled, the young prince smiled up at his father. The man stood tall, raising a hand to knock on the door.

From inside, a voice called out, “Come in!”

Though hesitant for a second, the king opened the door and led his son inside the building.

  
  


Wooden displays lined the walls of Maurice's home, each one filled with assorted gems of different colors, sizes, cuts, and designs. Each gemstone sparkled from the light streaming through the windows, exhibiting the refined skills of the lapidarist in their facets. Even the smallest cabochons flaunted proud, brilliant colors, and carved gems showed the unfathomable precision that Maurice had.

Although he was somewhat dismayed by the thought of having to wait for Maurice to finish with whatever his mother wanted the lapidarist to do, the prince couldn't help but stare at the displays, his yellow eyes shining as brightly as the gemstones inside.

Distracted by the gems, the young boy forgot all about why he was there, until he turned around and spotted his mother and father talking by a nearby counter.

Almost immediately, the boy rapidly pulled away from the display he had been glued to and ran to the queen, his tiny arms wrapping around her legs in a hug.

“Mother!” the young prince cried, “Father is getting a sword for me!”

Giggling at the sight of her excited son, the mother gently reached down and pat his head. “I know, dear,” she said, smiling as she rubbed the boy's head with a sand-colored hand. “We both had this planned for some time, now.”

The child beamed with pure delight as he closed his eyes, his joy practically _palpable._

“So, my dear,” the king soon began, a cheerful smile clear on his ivory, stubbly face, “do you have any idea when Maurice will be finished?”

The queen sighed, pushing a lock of the man's curly, auburn hair back behind his ear. “Unfortunately, they are rather involved with getting the stone _just right,_ as always,” she answered, somehow managing to keep a smile on her face.

Sheepishness returned to the king's smile as his rounded eyebrows furrowed upwards. “How long have they-”

“All day, apparently,” the queen interrupted in a low, furtive tone. “They say they're almost done, but I imagine that means we'll be here for the next half-hour.”

The prince' gaze rose up towards his parents, his eyes widening into orbs as he released his mother from the hug. _“That long?”_ the boy said as quietly as he could, given his shock. “But that's a long time...!”

Immediately, the royal couple glanced at each other with nervous smiles on their faces.

“How about we give Maurice ten minutes?” the king suggested to the boy. “If they're not done by then, I'll take you to get your mask.”

  
  


Ten minutes!? That was still so _long!_ But the idea of waiting a _half an hour_ for the lapidarist- he felt _proud_ to know what that word meant- to finish with faceting or cutting whatever gem they were working on was _far_ less appealing to the prince.

  
  


“Okay,” the boy sighed, swinging his arms back and forth as he rocked on his heels.

Smiling at her son, the queen leaned down and gently smoothed out the young prince's messy hair. In response to this, the boy screwed his eyes shut, a smile plain on his face.

“Don't worry, sweetie,” his mother reassured, “I'm certain that Maurice just wants to make sure the gem is _perfect.”_

Once she had finished fixing his hair, the prince opened his eyes back up and nodded. “I know,” he replied, “I just don't understand why they have to take so long for _one_ gem.”

His mother hummed, at that. “That, my son, is something that I don't quite understand, either,” she mused, sliding a short lock of her light chestnut hair out of her face.

“Speaking of Maurice,” the king suddenly said, “perhaps I should take a peek at how they're doing- _hey!”_

The king interrupted himself as the queen poked his nose.

“Dear, you know how Maurice gets when people interrupt their work,” she reminded him in a jokingly scolding tone.

The man chuckled a bit as he squinted one eye and raised the thick eyebrow above the other. “Surely they wouldn't mind the _king_ popping in to say hello!” the man jested.

While the two nobles were jokingly arguing with each other, the prince turned and glanced at the front window of Maurice's store. Dismay gave way to confusion as he spotted a pair of blue eyes peering in at him from outside of the building.

The boy raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he returned the gaze. He could only see some red hair and- probably a trick of the light- a glowing, pale forehead that the owner of said eyes had.

  
  


Who _was_ that? He didn't recognize them-

  
  


All of a sudden, a door opened and closed as a modulated voice rang out.

“I am pleased to announce that the- Oh!”

The prince whirled around, soon spotting the slightly chubby form of Maurice approaching the counter. Upon spotting the prince, the lapidarist froze in place, raising a hand to rub slightly at their short, fuzzy black hair.

“Oh, goodness, I wasn't expecting-” Instantly, they cut themselves off as they leaned over the counter to the boy's parents, who had stopped their teasing upon hearing Maurice speak. “Was this _supposed_ to be a surprise?” the gemcutter inquired in a low whisper.

The queen took Maurice's silky hand in both of hers. “We were just waiting for you to finish, actually,” she replied, a big smile stretching across her smooth face, “I must say, you have _wonderful_ timing!”

The complement brought a smile to the lapidarist's face. Maurice beamed, his rich brown face hinted with a tone similar to the sapphires they faceted. “Well, I... thank you, Your Majesty!”

As the jeweler and queen spoke, the prince suddenly remembered the pair of eyes he saw. But upon turning back around to look out the window again, he discovered that the eyes had _vanished._

  
  


_Where had they gone?_

  
  


In the window's reflection, the boy saw the queen's rosy face glow with pure joy as she released Maurice's hand from her hold. Quickly, she turned to the prince, the king mimicking her enthusiasm as the parents clasped their hands together.

“Sweetie,” the prince's mother began to say, “a sword wasn't the _only_ gift we had in mind, for you.”

Blinking in surprise, the boy pushed his confusion aside as he turned and glanced between the two adults. “It wasn't?” he asked.

The king shook his head. “Of course not! You have _two_ parents, after all,” the man humorously pointed out with a wink, “which means you get _two_ presents.”

At that, Maurice's amethyst eyes twinkled as they handed something off to the queen.

“Thank you, Maurice,” she said to the lapidarist, before kneeling down to her son. “My sweet, beautiful son, this is our second gift to you.”

She opened her hand, holding the gift out to the young prince.

  
  


The boy's eyes filled with stars, once more.

  
  


In the queen's hand was what appeared to be a yellow brooch, shaped like a crescent moon. In the light from the sun, he could see some streaks cross over each other across the gemstone. Carefully, the prince picked up the accessory- which was about as big as his own hand, and examined it closely.

“Yellow star moonstone,” Maurice explained, moving from behind the counter to point at the streaks of light upon the gem. “That, dear boy, is an asterism; it's where the 'star' part of the name comes from.”

The prince's eyes grew wide as saucers, shining almost as brightly as the sun. “Like an asterism in space!” he joyfully exclaimed.

The short lapidarist smiled and nodded, touching the side of their upturned nose with a finger. “That's right- Oof!”

Maurice gasped slightly as the young noble wrapped his arms around them.

“Thank you, Maurice! Thank you so much!”

The jeweler chuckled ever so slightly, patting the child's head softly. “You're welcome, Your Highness,” they replied, “but I think you should also- _whoa-!”_

A small shout of surprise escaped Maurice as the boy darted from them to the queen. She was ready for the child's hug, kneeling down with open arms as the boy flew into them.

“Thank you, Mother!” he cried, giving the woman a kiss on the cheek before he rushed over to his father to do the same thing. “Thank you, Father! I love it!”

The adults all chuckled at the sight, the queen standing up to brush off her dress as Maurice readjusted their suit. “Come back over here," the jeweler instructed, "I'll show you how to put it on!”

  
  


A few minutes and many exuberant “Thank you”s later, the prince walked out of Maurice's store, the crescent moon brooch secure upon the knot of his cravat. The boy's rosy cheeks glowed with joy as he held his parents' hands and walked down the street.

  
  


A mask, a sword, _and_ a brooch! This had to be the _best day of his life!_

  
  


Pure joy practically _radiated_ from the young prince as he strode down the street at a quick pace, unable to wait any longer for his new mask. A wellspring of excitement was building up inside of him with each step he took. He dragged his amused parents along by their hands, unable to hold in his endless enthusiasm. He could hardly wait to see how his new mask had turned out!

  
  


Sure, he had drawn a design of what _he wanted_ it to look like, but now he was going to see it _in person!_

  
  


As they walked down the village streets, the prince's parents suddenly slowed- much to his dismay- as they noticed a familiar couple heading their way. Despite his disappointment at his parents' slowing pace, the boy stood tall and proper as the pairs of grown-ups approached each other with cheerful smiles.

“Fancy seeing you here!” the prince's father exclaimed, moving over to hug the man that approached. The child's mother, meanwhile, moved to give the woman with the man a proper, gentle hug.

After what felt like _ages,_ the four adults finally finished hugging and pulled away, the king clasping his hands together in front of his chest while the queen let her entwined fingers hang down.

“How are you two doing?” the boy's mother asked. “I heard that our desert neighbors came by to visit you both, just yesterday!”

The other man smiled, lifting his crown up off of his head to smooth back his blond hair before he spoke. “Ah, it went very well,” was the other king's reply as he placed his crown back upon his head. “Our neighbors are a _bit_ concerned for our well-being, however. There is a group of their people who still have... _strong opinions_ about us, involving the history between our two kingdoms, so the neighboring king wanted to warn us about them.”

While the two kings and two queens spoke to each other about politics, the prince's young mind started to wander as he thought about what had been said.

Now, Subcon was a rather unique kingdom for one good reason: the land was ruled by _two_ royal families with no relation to one another.

According to the extensive history lessons Raymond had given the prince, the leaders of two different groups had traveled far to find a new home for their people. Due to the groups taking different paths through the massive canyon that bordered Subcon, they ended up settling on different sides of the forest, neither of them aware of the presence of the other. Subcon Forest ended up being ruled by _two_ monarchs. But when the kingdoms discovered they were not alone in the forest, tensions arose.

Before even a single fight could break out between the two kingdoms, however, they were suddenly attacked by a kingdom from the desert beyond the canyon.

Quickly realizing the severity of the situation, the two monarchs put their hostilities aside and worked together to protect the forest from their desert foes. With quick thinking and strategic planning, the two kingdoms defeated the desert kingdom with relative ease. Both of the monarchs of the forest admired each others' expertise in leading their people, and after a few civil talks, they came to an unusual solution to their territory problem: they would have one kingdom under two separate ruling families.

Ever since that day, Subcon Forest had been ruled by the two royal families in one united kingdom.

As for the desert kingdom, the prince knew they had engaged in combat against Subcon Kingdom solely to control the forest; a conflict that lasted for _hundreds_ of years, and had only _recently_ ended with a peace treaty between the desert and the forest.

At least, that was the simplified version of it- simplified, that was such a grown-up word!- that Raymond had taught him. Now that he was thinking about it, the prince recalled the history teacher mentioning that Diana had actually _fought_ in some of those battles, long before he was born.

_The smithy probably had some stories to tell, about those days..._

“Ah, I see His Highness is sporting a new look, today!”

  
  


Snapped out of his thoughts, the prince tilted his head back to stare at the other king's tanned face.

A pair of bright blue eyes stared back at the young prince. The other king raised a bushy, hard-angled eyebrow at the child and gave him a toothy smile.

“How are you doing, Prince-”

  
  


_“Snatcher...”_

  
  


A voice he didn't recognize replaced the monarch's, for a moment. However, the prince didn't notice this, nor the unusual name, and instead smiled as politely as he could at the other king.

“I am well, thank you!” he replied, “Mother and Father were taking me to get my new mask from Selene, just now.”

At that, the other king chuckled and gently pat the boy's head. “That blue moon mask, right?” the man ventured, amusement clear in his tone. “I overheard Aizat talking about it, some time ago. He said he was getting his own mask made, just for the occasion.”

The prince's smile grew genuine. He eagerly nodded his head, his crown nearly falling right off from his excitement. “We were talking about the blue moon for a _long_ time,” the boy soon revealed, “so we wanted to get similar masks. An actual blue-colored moon is _really_ rare!”

The other king hummed at that, holding a rough hand up to his chin. “I think we'll have to stay up tonight with Vanessa, just to see it!” he soon chuckled.

“Oh, how is Vanessa doing, by the way?” the prince's mother asked. “I know she had to be sent away for her health, some time ago...”

The other king pushed back a long lock of his blond hair as he stood up, his smile swiftly fading like the stars in the morning. “Ah...” He trailed off, glancing to the other queen with worried, furrowed eyebrows.

The other queen glanced back at her husband with solemn blue eyes, her own ivory face sporting a frown. After maintaining eye contact with him for a moment, she answered for him.

“Vanessa has recovered from her health problems,” the other queen said. Her long black hair swayed in the breeze as she held her hands down in front of herself. “However, her teachers informed us that she was having some difficulty with her studies, so we sent her off to a highly-recommended tutor. She was _supposed_ to come home for the festival, but...”

She trailed off, glancing towards the ground.

Setting a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder, the other king finished speaking for her.

“She has become ill, again,” the king explained.

Glancing up at his parents, the prince soon noticed his mother's hand rise up to cover her mouth, while his father raised his eyebrows in alarm and frowned deeply.

The other king saw the couple's response, and started stuttering as he went into further detail. “N-Not anything _serious,_ fortunately!” stuttered the other king. “She is just a bit under the weather. The worst part for her is the headaches, mostly.”

The man soon sighed. “But it _is_ serious enough that she cannot come home until she is better, which means she will miss the festival.”

“Oh, how awful!” the boy's mother exclaimed. “I do hope she recovers quickly!”

“As do we,” the other queen replied, her thin, rounded eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“That is why we were on our way to- coincidentally- Selene's workshop,” the other king revealed. “We asked her to make a special mask for our poor daughter, so that she might feel a bit better knowing that she will have a mask to wear for the next festival.”

The boy's parents glanced at each other briefly, small smiles gracing their faces.

“In that case, we can all go to Selene's shop, together!” his father exclaimed.

The other queen smiled properly at his parents. “Why, what a wonderful idea!” she replied. “I hope you will not mind if we stop by Horace's home, on the way. We asked him to make a special cloak for our sweetheart, as well.”

“Oh, not at all!” the boy's mother said, before placing the tip of her finger against her mouth. “That reminds me, _we_ need to see Horace, as well!”

"Why, I think you are right, my love!" the prince's father replied.

  
  


_Oh, no..._ how long would it take for him to get his new mask!? The prince's enthusiasm began to deflate, knowing that it would more than likely take ages for both of the royal couples to get anywhere, given that they had a tendency to walk _very slowly_ while chatting!

  
  


While his mother and the other king and queen spoke cheerfully to one another, the young prince's father slowly pulled him aside and knelt down.

“I know you're eager to get your new mask,” the man sympathetically told the anxious young boy, “but since it is clearly going to take a while for us to get around, would you mind doing something for me?”

Dismay pushed aside, the prince nodded quickly.

Chuckling slightly, the man ruffled his son's hair. “Well, since Vanessa is feeling sick, how about we get her some flowers to cheer her up, hm?”

  
  


Admittedly, the prince had never actually _met_ Vanessa. The daughter of the other pair of monarchs mostly stayed at home, when she was- _very rarely-_ in Subcon. He didn't know _anything_ about Vanessa, aside from what he managed to occasionally overhear about her from the royal couples.

Despite that, the prince knew how _awful_ being sick was, and- even though he didn't know her very well- he _did_ want to do something to help her feel better, if he could. Maybe they could be friends, and send letters to each other whenever she was away!

  
  


“I think flowers are a magnificent idea, Father!” the prince soon chirped.

With a smile stretching across his face, the king reached into a satchel and pulled out a gold coin. “Julio is supposed to be helping Wallace out with the flower stalls, today,” he explained to the boy, “so ask him for some flowers that will help her feel better.”

Once the coin had been gently placed in the prince's hand, the boy nodded once more. “I will, Father!” he assured the king.

His father chuckled a bit more, before patting him on the shoulder. “That's my son,” he praised, “now, hurry along. I expect you'll be at Selene's _long_ before we will!”

  
  


That thought filled the child with renewed enthusiasm. Without wasting another moment, the young noble raced down the village streets, the coin tightly grasped in his small hand as he went straight for the florist's flower stalls.

* * *

_Two days had passed._

Frederick floated by the plush armchair that the Snatcher was currently laid against, his hand gently gripping the specter's arm. Worry was prevalent on the ghostly scientist's features as he carefully examined the maned ghost, taking care not to jostle him too much.

Just outside of the tree home, Julio let out an exhausted sigh as he sat upon the thorny vine bridge. The gardener rubbed his ghostly temple with a hand and cast his gaze up towards the pale crescent moon that forever hung in the center of the endless night sky. Beside him, Zacharias was hunched over, gazing down at the pond below with their hands tightly clasped in their lap. Their ghostly brow furrowed in deep thought as they stared at the crystal-clear water.

“We should have gone out there, sooner,” the miller bitterly mumbled.

Julio glanced up Zacharias, frowning as he placed a hand on their shoulder. “There was nothing we could've done,” he told them. “Even if we went out there, all we would have done was distract him, or end up frozen at _her_ hands.”

Zacharias floated up, throwing the gardener's hand off of their shoulder in rage as they clenched their fists and their figurative teeth.

“At least we would have _done_ something!” the miller yelled at him. “At least we could have found _some way_ to help him! There had to be _something_ we could have _done!”_

“Zacharias-” Julio floated up, gripping the miller's shoulders. “- there was _nothing_ we could have done.”

  
  


The miller locked eyes with Julio as he gently lowered them both back down to the bridge. Their gaze was one of pure anger and frustration, while his was solemn.

  
  


“We don't have powers like Snatcher,” Julio calmly explained, “he could have ended up in a _worse_ state than this, if we had tried to help him.”

Zacharias's gaze softened as they cast it back down towards the pond. “Our safety is the most important thing to him,” they murmured.

With a small nod, the gardener gently pat the miller's back. “That's right,” he replied, “he would've been distracted by us being there. If _she_ had tried to attack us, he'd have done _everything_ in his power to make sure we weren't harmed, _even if he got hurt in the process.”_

A long, tired sigh left the miller as they held their head. “This is just... it's _aggravating,_ not being able to do _anything_ to help him...”

“I know, Zacharias, I know...” Julio somberly said. “But all that we can do right now is wait.”

Frederick soon glided over to the entrance of the tree home, wringing his hands as he approached the two. Julio happened to glance over at the entrance, in that moment, and soon frowned when he noticed expression on the scientist's face.

“Still no change?” the gardener ventured.

Frederick shook his head. “He's still in some kind of unconscious state,” the schoolteacher told him. “I thought he would have woken up, by now. Yet, it's been _two days...”_

Julio frowned, holding his chin with a hand as he thought long and hard. “Do you have _any_ idea why he's been unconscious for so long?” he asked Frederick.

A hum escaped the scientist, before he shook his head again. “I have no idea,” he admitted, “but after thinking about it, I think I might have a _tentative_ theory.”

Zacharias forced their eyes away from the pond and glanced at the scientist. Julio rose from the vine, his attention fully on Frederick.

“You see, his ability to summon items from somewhere else to his hands was the _first_ power he discovered he had, remember?” Frederick paused, waiting for Julio and Zacharias to nod their heads before he continued. “Well, he used that power _so much,_ that he ended up passing out!”

Frederick began floating back and forth, his arms behind his back as he paced in the air. “He's been gaining more and more new powers, since that day; sensing souls, shape-shifting, telekinesis, teleportation, beams of energy, blue fire, the ability to _take people's souls...”_

The scientist turned to face the miller and gardener, and raised a finger. “Before, he could only use most of these powers for decent lengths of time, before he became exhausted. _Now,_ however, he has been able to use them for _longer_ periods of time before he gets tired.”

Zacharias rolled their eyes, while Julio arched a confused eyebrow.

Seeing that he was losing them, Frederick went straight to the point. “It's possible that he used up too much energy,” he explained.

“But we already guessed that!” Zacharias cried, throwing their hands up into the air. “How does it make _this_ any different!?”

“Calm down, Zacharias,” Frederick explained, holding his hands in front of himself. “Let me explain.”

Grumbling, the miller crossed their arms.

Frederick cleared his ghostly throat before he began his explanation. “When Snatcher passed out, the first time, he had summoned Alexis' stuffed fox toy; something _small._ As a result, he was unconscious for only a few minutes.”

The schoolteacher glanced at the two ghosts as he continued. “This time, not only was he probably tired from being up for so long, but he had to teleport back and forth between the desert and here, while we were fighting Shady's forces,” Frederick explained. “Then, he had to fight _Vanessa_ ; a feat that we all know from experience is a rather _draining_ one, for him.”

What the scientist was implying instantly clicked with Julio. “Are you saying that how long Snatcher will be unconscious for is based on how much energy he uses, when he's already exhausted from using his powers too much?”

“It's only a theory, mind you,” the scientist reminded the gardener, “but right now, it's the only theory that makes any sense.”

Suddenly, Zacharias floated up. “I'm going to your laboratory, Frederick,” the miller announced. “Maybe there's something in that tome that'll help prove that theory. Or help us wake Snatcher up. One or the other; you two can handle watching the boss, right?”

The other two ghosts shot each other a surprise glance, before they nodded at Zacharias.

“If you can find _anything_ in that tome that could help us out, let us know _immediately,_ ” Frederick urged.

Zacharias nodded at them both, before darting through the air towards Frederick's tower.

“I'm worried about them,” Julio murmured once the miller was out of earshot.

Noticing Frederick staring at him perplexedly, the gardener elaborated further. “They're really hung up about what happened to Snatcher; I think they even feel _guilty_ about it.”

“But there's no reason for them to,” Frederick pointed out. “We all _knew_ that we wouldn't stand a chance against Vanessa.”

Julio's gaze rose up to the moon, his light blue eyes focusing on the pale crescent. “I think they're just frustrated that there doesn't seem to be any way to wake Snatcher up that _isn't_ waiting.”

“I can't say that I blame them,” the scientist responded. “If I had a way to wake Snatcher up _right now,_ I'd have woken him up, already.”

Frederick watched as Julio tore his gaze away from the sky and floated into the tree home, leaving the scientist floating above the vine bridge. With his back to Frederick, Julio approached the unconscious form of the Snatcher and stared at the specter's inky face.

Sadness enveloped the gardener's eyes as he frowned.

  
  


“I would have, too...”

* * *

As he approached the stalls, the prince stopped quickly to admire the numerous stands filled with colorful flowers and plants. Each one had been tended to with loving care, and grew vibrantly and healthily in their clay pots. Their petals vivid, the plants stretched towards the sunlight, their proud leaves flared to catch the warm rays.

  
  


_What a wonderful sight!_

  
  


The prince was distracted from the spectacular floral displays as a familiar, chubby- yet slightly muscly man stepped into view. A smile stretched clear across the boy's face as he waved to the man.

“Good Afternoon, Julio!” the noble greeted.

Julio's high-arched, rounded, bushy eyebrows rose as a pleasant grin popped right onto his face.

“Your Highness! What a surprise!” the gardener exclaimed, his voice deep and hearty as he waved the child over. “Come on over; I _just_ finished tending to some roses.”

In an instant, the young prince was right next to the gardener as he gently wiped his dirt-covered, sand-colored hands with a towel.

The gardener's eyes trailed down to the brooch on the young boy's cravat. “Got a new brooch, I see?” was his impressed comment.

Nodding quickly, the young noble was quick to respond. “Mother and Father got it for me, today,” he told Julio, “Maurice did an excellent job, as usual!”

A small chuckle escaped the man as he moved to wipe off his arms. “Oh, they certainly did.”

He tossed the towel onto a nearby stand after his arms were free of dirt. “So, what brings you here?” Julio asked. “I would've thought you'd be out playing with the other children!”

“I wanted to buy some flowers for someone,” the boy explained, holding the coin up. “There's someone that's sick and is getting headaches, so I wanted to give her something to help her feel better!”

The gardener tapped the side of his large, round nose as he smiled at the child. “I see... Well, you've come to the right place!” the man joyfully announced, motioning to all of the flowers that lined the stalls.

He knelt down suddenly, holding a hand up to whisper to the child. “If you don't mind me asking, who are the flowers for?”

  
  


Should he say they're for Vanessa...? No, she'd probably like her privacy...

  
  


“Um...” the prince began, pausing as he thought of what to say, “they're for someone I never met. But I would like to be her friend!”

Julio raised a curious eyebrow. “Really, now?” he mused, holding his rounded chin with a hand as he stood back up. “I'm not too familiar with floriography, but...”

He soon moved over to a book placed upon a stand, flipping it open. “Just a second, let me see if I can find some flowers in here...”

While the gardener mumbled quietly to himself, the prince glanced around at the countless flowers on display. There were violets, roses, gladiolus, bleeding hearts, lilies, jasmine, tulips...

  
  


Heavens, there were a _lot_ of flowers, and all of them in so many _colors!_

  
  


Before the boy got _too_ involved in glancing over the various blooms, the gardener suddenly laughed aloud.

“Here we are!” Julio declared, before striding over to a large stand. The man carefully lifted up a pot of four-petaled white flowers, with some shade of dark blue tinting the centers of the plants.

  
  


The prince stared in _awe_ at the blooms as he handed the gold coin to the gardener.

Julio's eyes twinkled as he took the coin with one hand, and handed the pot of flowers off to the prince with the other.

  
  


_“Come on, Snatcher, you need to-”_

  
  


_It was Julio's voice, but the words that came from his mouth didn't match up with what the prince heard. He didn't notice this discrepancy, however, as he was too busy staring at the wonderful little flowers._

  
  


The boy blinked. The gardener had told him what the flowers were called, but the name was so long and difficult that he _already_ had a hard time remembering it. Soon, he realized that Julio was still talking, and forced himself to pay attention.

“- they've been used to treat headaches for centuries, and they're the perfect flowers to send to someone you want to be friends with. In fact, I believe they _literally_ mean, 'Let's be friends'!” Julio finished saying.

Joy spread across the prince's features as he gave the gardener a big smile. “Thank you, Julio!” he cried, “These flowers are _perfect!”_

A thick hand gently pat the boy's head as Julio returned the smile with his typical cheerful grin. “I'm always happy to help,” he happily said. “Make sure those flowers get plenty of water!”

“I will! I'll see you later!”

  
  


After waving good-bye to the gardener, the prince went back out into the streets. Both of his arms were wrapped securely around the pot of flowers as he headed for Selene's workshop.

He walked more slowly, this time; he didn't want to drop the flowers, after all!

Soon, the child rounded a corner, and saw the tall workshop just down the street. Once he had made it up to the workshop's door, he set the flowers down carefully and politely knocked.

A bubbly voice from inside said, “Come in!”

The boy slowly opened the door enough to put his foot between it and the door frame. Lifting the flowerpot back up with both arms, he pushed the door open further with his foot and stepped inside.

Immediately, the scent of fresh lumber and wood dust assaulted his nose as he walked into the workshop. He wrinkled his nose slightly, his eyes screwing shut as he set the pot of blooms back down to close the door behind himself.

“Oh, Your Highness! I was wondering when you'd be here!"

The boy opened his eyes, his expression going back to normal as he turned to face the voice's owner.

Selene's goldenrod eyes shined cheerfully as a huge smile stretched across her warm beige face. “Is that a new brooch?” she asked, taking note of the crescent moon pinned to the knot of his cravat.

The prince's eyes lit up with joy. “Yes, it is!” he happily told her, “Mother and Father asked Maurice to make it for me!”

The carpenter gave him a thumbs-up and a wink. “It looks great on you!” the carpenter informed him, before pulling her black, shoulder-length hair out of the ponytail she had it in. “Wait right there; I'll get your new mask!”

As Selene walked around a corner to some deeper part of the workshop, the prince joyfully clenched his fists as he held them down at his sides. He could barely contain his excitement as he stood still, doing his best not to bounce from anticipation.

  
  


He couldn't help himself; _finally,_ he was getting his new mask!

  
  


"I was actually about to close the place up, for the day," the carpenter admitted from the back of the shop, "you're lucky you got here when you did!"

After what felt like the _longest_ minute of his life, Selene re-emerged, brushing off the top of her small, fleshy nose as she walked back over to the prince with a mask in her hand.

“Florence actually finished painting it, yesterday,” the carpenter mentioned, “but I wanted to give it extra time to dry, just to make sure it'd be ready for you, today.”

Kneeling down in front of him, she held up her other hand.

“What do you think?” she asked.

  
  


His eyes grew _massive._

  
  


The mask's right side sported a design of a crescent moon, its color a pale powder blue with hints of gray mixed in. The mask's left side was a light bluish gray, and running down and curving to and from the mask's left eye was a musical score, the notes and lines carved and painted in a slightly darker gray.

“I know you wanted the notes painted,” Selene reminded him, “but I thought it'd be nicer for them to be carved out, so even if the paint fades, you can still see them.”

  
  


The prince was _astonished._

  
  


_This mask was..._

  
  


“It's _magnificent!”_ he cried, wrapping his arms around Selene in a tight hug. “It's _glorious, spectacular, wonderful!”_

Selene laughed a bit, hugging the prince back. “I'm glad you approve!” she replied, before holding the mask out. “Here, try it on!”

The prince kept himself from snatching the mask out of her hand from his excitement, politely taking it in his hands and slipping it on over his face.

The carpenter grabbed a mirror and lifted his crown up, straightening his hair out before putting it back on. Smiling profusely, she held the mirror up for the prince.

With his moon brooch _and_ moon mask on, the prince thought he looked _spectacular!_ His beaming smile was hidden behind the mask, but his joy was _palpable._

  
  


_“It's amazing!”_ he breathed, moving to hug Selene's leg. “Thank you, Selene!”

Without any hesitation, she returned the hug. “You're welcome!” was her response as a cheerful smile made its way onto her face.

As the prince pulled away from her, he suddenly remembered the flowers he had brought in.

“Oh! I need to return to my mother and father!” he cried, rushing to lift the pot of flowers back up.

“Here, I've got the door!” Selene moved and held the door open, for the prince. “Take care!”

“Thank you, Selene!”

His gratitude was _immense-_ both for his new mask and for Selene opening the door- as he made his way back out onto the village streets. With his new mask on his face and the pot of flowers secure in his arms, the noble started on his way back to where his parents were.

Through the streets the young prince went, practically _bursting_ with excitement as he skirted the very edge of the village, his yellow eyes bright with stars behind his new blue moon mask. Now that he had a mask, he put up the hood of his cloak. The tips of his crown made very obvious points underneath the cloth, which he soon noticed as he peered at his reflection in a nearby window.

He didn't care, though; he had his new mask, a new brooch, a pot of flowers for- _hopefully-_ a new friend, _and_ he would be getting a new sword!

  
  


This was, without a doubt, _the best day of his life!_

  
  


_... Wait, what was that sound?_

  
  


Instantly, he poked his head around the corner of the building. The young boy strained his ears as he tried to discern the very quiet noise that he had suddenly picked up on. After spending a good few seconds listening intently, he soon figured out that the sound he was hearing was soft sobbing.

  
  


_Sobbing?_

  
  


Worry took root in him. Who was crying? Was someone hurt? Did they need help?

Well, he was going to find out!

Hugging the flowerpot close to his chest, the young prince turned the corner and hurried around to the back of the building.


	22. Flowers and a Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mask to help you feel brave, a flower to show others your heart.

An unnatural silence hung about Subcon Forest. Not a single creature dared to break it; even the scuttling of spiders seemed to be quieter than normal. It was as though the arachnids were all too aware of the severity of the situation that began only a few days prior, and like an audience in a theater, were waiting in hushed suspense near the gigantic, mushroom-covered tree to see how everything would play out.

  
  


_Three days had passed._

  
  


Gliding up the path to the tree was Raymond, toting a wooden box filled with a numerous amount of parchment inside. The schoolteacher hummed slightly as they made their way up the vine bridge, and lifted a hand to rap on the bark of the tree home with his knuckle.

"Knock-knock," the schoolteacher said, poking their head into the entrance of the tree home. A cheerful smile was on their face as they spotted the Snatcher sitting in his chair, in much the same state as he had been, the past few days: unconscious.

No hesitation was present in Raymond as they floated inside, setting the wooden box on the table to their right. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion," they said, motioning to their ghostly self, "but it's my turn to keep an eye on you!"

  
  


The blank, inky face of the specter stayed still.

  
  


Though it was unsettling to see his face without its usual yellow features, Raymond paid this no mind as they rifled through the pieces of parchment in the box and chattered away. "We all agreed it'd be best if the children didn't see you like this," the schoolteacher said, "but they're all _so worried_ about you. Why, they couldn't even focus on their lessons! So-"

Carefully, they lifted the stack of parchment up into their arms.

"- I thought it might help ease their minds if I let them write you some get-well letters!"

The shadowy form of the Snatcher didn't respond or move as the schoolteacher set the stack down on the ottoman. After taking a second to sit down next to the stack, they lifted up a piece of the parchment from the top.

"This one's from Susan," Raymond told him, glancing at the phantom as they spoke. "She's still having trouble with spelling some words- like 'unconscious', she _always_ forgets the 's' that's between the 'n' and 'c'. But Frederick's their writing teacher-"

Raymond winked mischievously at the phantom.

"- so these don't count as homework assignments, since _I'm_ the one that gave them the idea to write letters."

Clearing their throat, the schoolteacher read the letter aloud. "'Dear Snatcher, I hope you're doing okay. Professor Frederick and Professor Raymond said that you were unconscious, and that we needed to wait until you wake up before we can see you. I hope you feel better soon, because I miss pretending that I'm your shadow. Sincerely, Susan.'"

Raymond chuckled a bit, nodding as they turned their gaze to the inky ghost. "Ah, yes, she _always_ follows you around and does what you do. She looks up to you, quite a bit!"

Taking care of the parchment, they placed it down to the side and grabbed another piece from the stack. "Now, this one's from Anthony- he was the first one to turn his letter in, no doubt from how fast he wrote! Let's see..." Raymond squinted at the messy letters for a moment. "Ah! 'Dear Snatcher, I hope you wake up soon. We were all really scared when your face disappeared, but Professor Raymond and Professor Frederick told us that you would be okay.'"

The schoolteacher laughed slightly. "That boy misspelled 'disappear', again!" they realized, "He _always_ puts an extra 's' in it-"

All of a sudden, Raymond held their forehead. "Good heavens, I'm turning into Frederick..."

Shaking their head, they resumed reading the letter. "'I hope you wake up soon, because Ophelia won't let us go outside of the village to play because it's too dangerous. Sincerely, Anthony.'"

Setting the letter on top of Susan's, Raymond let their shoulders relax. "Oh, dear boy, you're such a role model to these children," the schoolteacher remarked, stroking their beard as they turned their head to the maned ghost.

  
  


Not a shred of light was on his darkened face.

  
  


Raymond sighed, before grabbing another piece of parchment from the pile. "Ah, this is from little Alexis!" they exclaimed, before scratching at their head. "Well... she's not quite good at writing anything, aside from _names,_ but she drew you a lovely little picture! She's giving you a hug, and there's flowers, too!"

All of a sudden, the schoolteacher set the picture aside as they focused their attention completely on the Snatcher. "One day, she'll get the hang of it," they assured him, "after all, when you started writing, you weren't very good at it, either."

They soon clapped their hands together as a huge smile stretched across their face. "But you kept at it, and once you had the hang of it, you wrote so _eloquently_ that it brought me to tears!" the schoolteacher recalled. "You were _so proud_ of yourself; why, you were practically _glowing_ with delight! You even helped the _other children_ learn how to write; I remember Frederick telling me all about how you sat down with Aureola and helped them with their 'd's and 'b's..."

  
  


There was no response from the maned ghost.

  
  


Their smile slowly faded away. "It's been three days, Snatcher... I hope you wake up, soon. The children really miss you, and so do I," Raymond admitted, a frown adorning their normally-cheerful face. "It's so _quiet_ in the forest- not the usual quiet, either! It's almost _unbearable..."_

  
  


The Snatcher said nothing.

  
  


Silence fell inside of the tree-home.

  
  


Shaking away their somber thoughts, the schoolteacher brightened up and their smile reappeared as they focused back on the letters. "Well, there's still a whole _slew_ of letters and drawings to go through," Raymond informed him, "and I promised the children that I would show them all to you. So, let's get through this stack before morning arrives, hm?"

Reaching for another letter, Raymond sat up straight and cleared their throat, once more. "Now, this next letter is from Denise- why, this might be the neatest handwriting I've seen from them!"

* * *

It didn't take long for the young prince to locate the source of the crying.

  
  


Some ways away from the back of the house was child, probably a couple of years or so younger than him. Their legs were sprawled out as they sat in the grass, their lavender sundress spread out over the ground. The child's back was to the prince, so all he could see was pure red hair that went a couple of inches past their shoulders.

  
  


Slowly, the prince approached, the soft grass bending underneath his every step. Once he was just within arm's reach, he spoke.

“Excuse me, are you okay?”

  
  


The child gasped, whirling around to give him a wide-eyed stare.

The prince _froze_ , his own eyes widening behind his mask.

  
  


If it weren't for the fact he recognized the person's eyes, the young prince would have _sworn_ they were a _ghost!_

  
  


Without a doubt, the younger child's celestial blue eyes were the same as the pair of eyes he had seen peering at him in Maurice's store. Their red hair hung about their face like tied-back curtains, revealing their puffy-eyed, round face. Thin, round, short eyebrows were placed high above their eyes- even higher now, as they were raised in surprise- and their lips grew thin as they leaned back away from him.

When he first saw them in Maurice's store, he had thought it was a trick of the light that their skin seemed to be a glowing white, at the time. Now that prince soon realized their skin was a pallid alabaster, the tears trailing from their eyes staining their cheeks with a red that matched the color of their small, slightly upturned nose.

The poor child looked like they were sick; their slightly skinny form didn't _discourage_ the idea, either.

  
  


His mask hiding the startled expression on his face, the prince soon realized something.

  
  


_He didn't know who they were._ _He had never met them, before!_

  
  


For a second, he stared at the child, who returned the stare with a wide-eyed, scared gaze of their own, which made them look like a deer cornered by a hunter.

He snapped himself out of his stunned state. “S-Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" he swiftly apologized. "I heard someone crying, so..."

Awkwardly, the younger child glanced down at the grass in an attempt to avoid his gaze.

"Is something wrong?” he soon asked, setting the flower pot down next to himself. “Why are you crying?”

The mysterious child rubbed at their tear-filled eyes with a fist. Slowly, they pointed up at the nearby trees that surrounded the path to the bridge.

Tilting his head back, the prince soon spotted a crow- a _regular_ crow, not the sapient kind that were common in the canyon- with a mask in their beak. Next to them was another of their kind, with a cloak firmly clasped in their own mouth. The moment the prince spotted the two birds, they instantly took off with their stolen prizes, soaring across the ravine and further into Subcon Forest.

A deep frown formed behind the prince's mask. One glance back at the child revealed their quivering lower lip and trembling shoulders as they watched their mask and cloak be carried off by the avian thieves.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” the prince instantly apologized, reaching into a pocket to hold a handkerchief out to them.

The pale child glanced between the boy's masked face and the handkerchief. Timidly, they reached out and accepted the cloth, rubbing their eyes dry with it.

While the child sniffled at the lost of their possessions, the prince's mind immediately came up with a solution to the younger child's problem.

“I think Selene's workshop closed a minute ago, but I could take you to Horace's store to get a new cloak, at least!” he was quick to suggest.

The boy's frown deepened behind his mask as the younger child _fervently_ shook their head.

“Why not?” he calmly asked.

The smaller child pulled their legs up to their chest, like they were trying to become smaller. Their mouth twitched, as though they were trying to muster up the courage to speak, but were struggling to do so.

Finally, after a moment, the child spoke in the softest voice the prince had _ever_ heard.

  
  


“Shy...”

  
  


Oh, that explained it.

  
  


For a split-second, he wondered how he could help the child obtain a new mask and cloak without bringing them into town.

A new idea formed in his head.

Without any hesitation, the boy unclasped his cloak from his shoulders and took off his new mask, holding them both out to the small child.

“Here, you can borrow mine!” he offered, a kind smile on his face.

The pale child lifted their head up from their knees. Their eyes swept from the red cloak, to the blue moon mask, then up to the boy's face. Wide-eyed astonishment intermingled with sadness as they recognized the face of the young prince of Subcon.

His smile grew slightly, a silent way of him saying it was okay for them to take the costume.

Meekly, the younger child gently accepted the mask, first.

The prince held his cloak with both arms as the other child slid the blue moon mask on over their face.

It was... a bit big for them, and the strap was looser. As a result, the mask started sliding down their face.

“Ah...” the prince had remarked, a sheepish smile on his face. “It's a bit loose, isn't it? Hm...”

Pondering for a solution, the prince's brow furrowed as he held his chin.

He glanced down as his arm bumped against something hard on his cravat's knot. His yellow eyes landed upon the equally-yellow crescent moon brooch.

  
  


A light bulb turned on in his head.

  
  


“Hang on, I've got it!” he suddenly announced, surprising the child who had started taking the mask back off. He soon held his cloak out to the pale child with a single request. “Hold this, please!”

Confused, the child obliged, carefully folding the cloak over their arms as the prince went around behind the child. Mindful of the point on his brooch, he removed it from his cravat and held the metal bit between his teeth. A furrowed brow soon formed again upon the boy's face as he straightened the mask from behind and grabbed the strap, taking care not to catch any of the pale child's hair in it as he slowly pulled it taut.

“Ish thish too tight?” he asked through his teeth.

A slight shake of the head from the younger child was the answer he got.

He folded the tightened ends over, then held onto them with one hand, the other removing the brooch pin from between his teeth.

“Hold _very_ still, okay?”

The pale child practically became a _statue_ from how still they were.

Intense concentration was on the young prince's face as he painstakingly stuck the pin through the folded strap, then back out the other side, doing his absolute best to make sure he didn't accidentally stab the back of the child's head in the process. A relieved sigh escaped him as he saw the pointed end of the needle come back out from the strap completely clean.

He snapped the brooch pin back into the brooch's catch. The prince stepped back, admiring his handiwork for a few seconds, before he moved around and in front of the child. “There!” he exclaimed, rather pleased with the result. “Now it won't fall off.”

Silently, the younger child blinked at him, peering through the mask's eyes at the noble. They slowly held his cloak back out for him.

Beaming, the boy took the cloak and carefully wrapped it round the pale child's shoulders. “We can get a new mask for you after the festival,” he told them as he reattached the clasps on the ends of the cloak's collar. "But we can got to Horace's store and buy you a new cloak!"

Soon, he stood up, clasping his hands together as his smile stretched from ear to ear. “There we go. You look great!”

Slowly, the masked child looked down at themselves, for a moment, before they slowly pulled the hood of the cloak up over their head. Despite the hood being a bit baggy, and the collar a bit loose, they looked like they could easily fit in with the other children.

Wordlessly, the prince held his hand out for the child.

They gradually took it, standing up with the noble's help.

Once they were back on their feet, the boy smiled cheerfully and nodded to himself. “I think you're ready for the festival!” he stated, before turning back to the pot of flowers he had left on the ground.

Quietly, the younger child spoke.

“Thank you...”

  
  


... Aw, he felt _good_ about helping them out.

  
  


Another idea popped into his mind, in that moment.

  
  


He could make _two_ new friends!

  
  


Leaning down to the flower pot, he plucked a flower with his right hand and held it out to the pale child.

“This flower is a... goodness, the name's _too long_ to remember,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head with his left hand. “But it means 'let's be friends' in floriography. So, let's be friends!”

For a moment, the masked, younger child stared at the flower in the prince's hand in utter silence, taking the time to understand what he was saying, and thinking about how to respond.

Reaching their pale right hand out, they took the flower from him, and uttered one word.

  
  


“Friends.”

  
  


The boy's rosy cheeks glowed with delight, his eyes closing as his smile grew ever larger.

The younger child took the flower and stuck the stem behind the ribbon wrapped around their chest. They pulled the end of the stem back up over the ribbon, and tied it carefully, before re-positioning the flower so it was centered in the middle of the ribbon.

The prince watched them do this, confused at first, but soon catching on to what they was doing. Once more, he clasped his hands together as a cheerful smile made its way back onto his face.

“Hey, that looks great!” complimented the boy, before he picked up the flower pot in both of his arms. “I need to go back to my parents, now. Do you want to come along?”

The child nodded at him.

“Okay!” he chirped, walking back to the street with the younger child in tow. “They were going to Horace's home, but the other king and queen showed up, so they might have taken a _really long time_ to get there.”

As the two children passed by the building they had been behind, the younger of the two paused to look at the window. Through the eye holes of the mask, their celestial blue eyes sparkling as they saw themselves in the faint reflection.

The prince paused, as well, turning around to glance at the child. Curiously, he moved over to their side, looking at the window's reflection with them.

“See? You look wonderful!” he said, motioning to their reflection with a hand.

Though they were wearing his mask, he had a feeling the child was smiling behind it.

“We can do _all kinds_ of stuff at the festival, if you want,” he said to them, “and you don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to.”

The child soon turned back to the boy, nodding a bit in response.

  
  


That was the moment that he suddenly realized something _very_ important.

  
  


_He didn't know their name._

  
  


“Say, what's your name?” the boy asked almost immediately after the thought came to mind.

A few seconds passed, before the smaller child answered in a quiet voice.

  
  


“Aureola.”

  
  


He hummed at that. “Aureola... that's a nice name!” was his response, a kind smile plain on his face. “My name is Prince-”

  
  


_“Snatcher...”_

  
  


_An unknown voice echoed through that wasn't his own, but he didn't notice it._

  
  


The young boy smiled from ear to ear at the masked child. "Well, let's get going!" he suggested, "I think the festival will start, soon!"

  
  


Images of wonderful festivities filled his mind as he hurried down the street. Though he was excited to enjoy the festivities, he made sure not to go too fast, for the sake of the smaller child- _his new friend-_ that followed close behind.

* * *

_Four days had passed._

  
  


In the late hours of night, Ophelia sat beside the chair that held the unconscious, faceless form of the Snatcher. It was the baker's turn to keep an eye on the inky ghost, that night, and she kept a constant vigil much like a mother caring for a sick child. Silently, she fixed a large blanket that had been draped over the ghost, her amber eyes half-lidded as she gazed sadly at the maned ghost.

“Oh, you sweet child,” the green ghost murmured, “I know you must rest, but if only you could wake up for even a second...”

  
  


The Snatcher remained motionless, his face barren of any light.

  
  


In an instant, the baker's eyes filled with tears.

“Snatcher, _please,_ wake up,” Ophelia pleaded, as though her words might magically make the ruler of the forest awaken. “The children are worried about you. We're _all_ worried. It's been _four days_ since you passed out; please, _wake up._ ”

  
  


Despite her desperate plea, the Snatcher's inky face showed no sign of any yellow glow that depicted his usual features.

  
  


Tears began pouring down her face. Ophelia covered her mouth and bowed her head, desperately trying to muffle her distraught sobs.

A darker green hand rested itself upon the baker's shoulder.

Turning her head, Ophelia was greeted by the sight of a offered handkerchief, and Aureola's celestial blue face. The baker smiled, accepting the handkerchief. “Thank you, dear,” she said, wiping her tears away with the soft cloth, “I thought you would have been asleep, by now. Why are you up?”

A small frown appeared on the milliner's face as they turned their gaze to Snatcher.

“You're worried about him too, aren't you?” she realized, sighing as she turned back to the inky ghost. “I'd be surprised if you weren't; you two were always close, like siblings.”

That made a faint smile appear on their face, and caused them to nod in agreement.

Ophelia handed the handkerchief back to the hat-maker. The baker clasped her hands together and managed a smile. “Why, I remember when you two were children,” she said, soon reminiscing about Subcon's living days. “You were always so quiet and timid, even with the other children. But after you met him, your shyness seemed to go away, little by little.”

Shaking her head, the baker glanced over at the milliner and smiled sadly. “Ever since your first festival, you two were best friends, along with Aizat. Those two boys helped you gain the confidence to interact with more people, even if you rarely ever talked.”

Their eyes swirling with emotion, Aureola gently pat the specter's clawed hand.

Slowly, Ophelia floated up from the ottoman. “Do you want to keep an eye on him, for tonight?” she soon asked.

After receiving a nod from the milliner, she lifted up a folded blanket and handed it to them. “All right, sweetie. Here's a blanket if you need it,” the baker told them. “Do try to get some rest, okay?”

Nodding once more, the hat-maker sat down on the ottoman with the blanket in their lap.

Ophelia bade them with a quiet “Good Night” as she floated out of the tree home and returned to Subcon Village.

Aureola soon pulled the blanket around themselves, their mouth forming a small frown as they watched the unconscious ruler of the forest remain still and faceless.

“Snatcher...”

  
  


There were so many things that Aureola could think of to say to the maned ghost; about how he had always made them feel like they could try new things, about how he always made them feel like they were a part of his family, about how he had always made them feel safe, like he was an older brother...

_About how much they were scared he would **never** wake up. How **terrified** they were about the thought that they would no longer have their best friend, the older brother that **always** looked out for them- though the hat-maker had done a fair share of looking out for him in the past, as well-_

Aureola's eyes filled with tears. They reached for the specter's hand, holding it tightly in their grasp as they rested their forehead against the chair's armrest.

  
  


There was _so much_ that they wanted to say.

  
  


They shuddered, quietly sobbing into the plush fabric.

  
  


All that they wanted _so badly_ to say, they managed to say in just four words.

  
  


“Wake up, big brother...”

* * *

The prince smiled at Aureola as the two walked through the village streets, the younger child still somewhat timid around him. Compared to how they behaved around everyone else, however, it seemed like they were pretty much sticking to the young noble like glue.

  
  


He didn't mind the slight distance; after all, they _just_ met, so they had to get to know each other before they could become proper friends.

Which meant he could make friendly- albeit one-sided- conversation!

  
  


“Did you know that there's going to be a blue moon, tonight?” he asked Aureola.

The masked child turned their head towards him, before shaking it.

“Well, it is!” he excitedly informed them. “But not like _typical_ blue moons.”

Their curiosity was concealed by their borrowed mask as they listened to the boy's explanation.

“The normal kind of blue moon is an extra full moon that happens in a year,” the boy explained, adjusting the flowerpot in his arms so he could carry it more comfortably. “A year normally has twelve full moons, but every two years, eight months, and eighteen days, there's a year that gets a thirteenth full moon, and _that_ moon is called a blue moon.”

He could barely contain his enthusiasm as he did his best to speak without motioning with his hands, like he normally did. “But the blue moon that is happening tonight is _not_ one of those kinds of moons. This time, the moon is actually going to _turn blue!”_

Despite the mask they wore, he could glimpse Aureola's eyes giving him a wide-eyed, awe-filled stare.

He grinned slightly. “It's a _very_ rare event; we may never see anything like it again, _in our whole lives!”_

  
  


Suddenly, a thought popped right into his head.

  
  


“Hey, do you want to come up to the Horizon, tonight?” he suddenly asked. “I'll be going up there with my parents and a friend to get a better look at the moon. My father's bringing his telescope and _everything!”_

For a brief moment, Aureola was a bit hesitant, their pace slowing slightly as a result.

The prince frowned, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. “Is something wrong?” he inquired.

Quickly, the masked child picked up their pace, shaking their head at his inquiry.

“So, do you want to come along?”

In response, they gave the prince a few fast nods, the hood of the loaned cloak flopping around as a result.

Were his hands empty, the prince would have clasped them in delight. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Now I just have to ask my parents if you can come!”

As if on cue, his parents emerged from Horace's shop, followed by the other king and queen. Immediately, the boy smiled as he turned his head to Aureola. “See? There they are! Let's ask them if you can come along!” he quickly said.

While the prince picked up his pace, Aureola let themselves fall behind him ever so slightly. The boy's father caught sight of his son's auburn chestnut hair and immediately knelt down to greet him.

“There you are!” the man exclaimed, gently rustling his son's hair. “I see you got the flowers.”

The young prince nodded as his father took the pot of blooms, a proud smile stretching across the boy's face. The little noble turned to the other king to explain. “I wanted to send some flowers to your daughter, so she would feel a bit better. Julio said they needed plenty of water.”

The other king gave the child a toothy grin as the boy's father handed his fellow monarch the plant. “How kind of you!” the other king exclaimed. “Vanessa will love them, I am _certain_ of it!”

His wife smiled gently at the young boy. “Such a polite young man!” she remarked.

At the other queen's compliment, the prince bashfully rubbed the back of his head.

She soon glanced a bit over from the prince, her eyes catching sight of his companion. “Oh, and who is this?” she inquired.

Upon being spotted by the raven-haired queen, Aureola quickly stepped behind the boy, peering at the adults through the eyes of the mask.

The other three nobles soon took notice of the meek child hiding in the prince's shadow, and small smiles appeared on their faces at the sight.

“This is Aureola,” the prince said, motioning to the child shying behind him.

The auburn-haired king raised an eyebrow, before he smiled in a kind, amused manner. “The village's little fawn?” he realized, “Why, I didn't recognize you! How are you, dear?”

Timidly, Aureola poked their head out from behind the prince and glanced over the king's face.

The other queen hooked her arm around her husband's and held a hand up to the side of her face. “Oh, are they not just _adorable,_ dear?” she commented.

The other king smiled brightly and nodded. “They are, my queen, they are.”

“Why, are they wearing your cloak?” the prince's mother noticed.

“Say, isn't that your new mask they're wearing?” added his father.

“A couple of crows stole their mask and cloak,” explained the prince, “so I'm letting them borrow mine for the festival.”

No amount of his parents' pride in him was small. Instantly, their eyes crinkled as proud smiles graced both of their faces.

As his mother knelt down beside his father, her eyes fell to the bare knot of the boy's cravat. “Where did your brooch go, my dear?” the queen asked her son.

Sheepish once more, the boy rubbed the back of his head again. “Well, the mask's strap was too loose on them, so I used my brooch to tighten it.”

His parents' eyes were practically _shining_ with joy. In an instant, the young prince felt two hands mussing up his hair.

“Oh, that is so kind of you. I am _so_ proud!” his mother praised.

“Clever thinking, using a brooch to tighten the strap!” his father added, “Well done, son!”

Despite his now-messy hair, the prince sported a huge, toothy smile.

All of a sudden, the other king and queen smiled at each other, before nodding to the boy's parents.

“Well, we should be on our way,” the other king said. “We need to get Vanessa's new mask, before we head off to visit her.”

He gave the young prince a cheery wink. “I believe we might stay up a bit later, just to see that blue moon you mentioned.”

Without missing a beat, the boy's mother and father stood back up, giving their fellow monarchs an embrace of farewell.

“Oh, do give her our best wishes!” his mother said.

“Tell her that we cannot wait to see her, next year!” his father exclaimed.

“We will,” the other queen replied, before nodding politely down to the young prince. “Farewell, Your Highness,” she said with a kind, proper smile, “I hope you enjoy the festivities, this year!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” the prince replied with a bow.

The other king didn't waste a second with patting the boy's head. “Do not stay up too late watching the moon,” the other king chuckled.

As the prince straightened back up, the royal couple hurried down the street to Selene's workshop. Aureola watched meekly as the other king and queen departed, edging a bit closer to the prince nervously when they passed by him.

Once the couple was out of sight, the prince heard his father clear his throat.

“Well, before we forget,” his father started to say, “we have another gift for you, from both of us.”

At that, the boy whirled back around, his yellow eyes wide as saucers.

_“Another_ gift?” the surprised boy repeated.

A nod from his mother and a twinkly-eyed grin from his father preceded the reveal. It was in that moment that the child realized his mother had something draped upon her arm, which she now unveiled.

The boy's jaw dropped as he gazed at the dark blue fabric.

  
  


_It was a new cloak, with glittering yellow stars embroidered all over it!_

  
  


“Mother, Father... thank you so much!” the boy cried, hugging his parents tightly.

The king laughed, while the queen gently pet the boy's head.

Aureola watched as the young prince swiftly put on his new cloak and pulled his hood up, spinning around excitedly for a moment. He soon clasped his hands together as he turned around to face the pale child, his face glowing with joy.

"Well, I guess we can wait until tomorrow to get a new cloak for you!" the young noble chirped.

  
  


... Wait, he was going to ask his parents about Aureola coming to the Horizon, tonight!

  
  


“Oh!” the boy suddenly blurted out. “I almost forgot!”

Quickly, he spun about on his heel to face his parents, once more. “Mother, Father, is it okay if Aureola comes to Horizon with us, tonight?” the young boy asked. “They want to see the blue moon, as well!”

The king and queen gave each other a curious, cheerful glance, before they answered their son's question.

“Of course, sweetie,” answered his mother.

“We'll have ask their parents first, though,” his father mentioned, taking hold of his queen's hand. “But let us handle that; you two go and play.”

Once again, the young prince clasped his hands in delight as he expressed his gratitude. “Thank you, Mother! Thank you, Father!”

Just as quickly as he had turned to the monarchs, he turned back to Aureola. “Come on, Aureola!” He beckoned to them with a hand. “The festival will start, soon!”

Darting to his side, Aureola and the prince hurried off to enjoy the festivities.

“So, what are your favorite things to do, during the festival?” he asked his companion.

The masked child slowed down, the ends of their borrowed cloak draping down well past their knees.

Noticing the sudden decrease in their speed, the boy stopped and turned to look at them. He couldn't help but tilt his head slightly, raising a rather perplexed eyebrow at the younger child.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Aureola glanced away, clasping their hands together in front of themselves as they hunched down, slightly.

“Did I say something bad?” he inquired, worry creeping onto his face with every passing second.

The masked child was quick to shake their head, their gaze still cast upon the ground.

“First festival,” they murmured, their voice growing even softer than it was, before.

The boy was _shocked._ “This is your _first festival?”_ he asked in pure disbelief.

His new friend nodded slightly.

“H-How long have you lived in Subcon?”

Aureola turned their head away from him. “Always...”

  
  


All the young noble could do was stare. He couldn't believe it! Aureola had lived in the village _all_ of their life, and this was their _first festival!?_

  
  


Watching Aureola hanging their head suddenly snapped the prince out of his shock.

The younger child seemed embarrassed.

He didn't understand why. Sure, it was shocking that they never went to a festival until now, but he didn't see why they were _embarrassed_ by it.

Nonetheless, he gave them a kind smile as he approached.

“Hey, it's okay,” he reassured them. “If this is your first festival, then that means it's going to be _extra_ special, because of the blue moon. Plus, this means you get to try some of Ophelia's special pastries!”

Aureola lifted their head back up to look at him.

With a cheerful smile, the prince pointed down the street. “Ophelia lets us try a little bit of each, so we can pick which one we want. You can figure out your favorite one!”

… That seemed to perk the shy child back up. Soon, they nodded eagerly at him and moved back to his side.

The prince beamed at that. “Okay, let's go!” he cried, running off towards the bakery.

Loud cheering from other children in the village filled the air as the two ran through the streets. All around, them, adults greeted the young prince with their usual, cheerful, “Hello, Your Highness!”

Naturally, he returned their greetings, waving happily to everyone as he addressed them.

Aureola, on the other hand, seemed to shy away from everyone, aside from him.

_Very timid, indeed..._

Despite his companion's shyness, the young noble was eager to show them everything the festival had to offer. After all, this was their first festival ever; he needed to make it a great one!

“Your Highness!”

The sudden call made the boy stop a few feet away from the bakery door. His new cloak fluttered around him as he turned around and spotted another child approaching him, wearing-

_His mask?_

Wait, no, this one was different; the crescent moon on the mask's right side was some kind of grayish cornflower blue, while the left side was a darker shade of the same color. The left side was also lacking any musical notation.

Instantly, the prince's smile grew. _He knew who this child was!_

“Hello, Aizat!” he greeted, his yellow eyes shining with pure joy. “You got your mask, too?”

Aizat's eyes sparkled behind his mask as he nodded quickly in response.

“Just this morning!” the boy replied. “I couldn't _wait_ to put it on!”

All of a sudden, he gasped as he realized something. “You got a new cloak!” he cried.

“Mother and Father had it made for me,” the prince explained, flapping the ends of it slightly. “Isn't it great?”

Rapid nodding ensued as Aizat bounced up and down. “The _coolest!”_

He suddenly stopped, then pointed at the prince's face. “Hey, you got your mask too, right?” the boy suddenly recalled. “Why aren't you wearing it?”

The prince's smile grew a bit sheepish. “Well...”

Aureola slowly peered out from behind the prince, having hidden in his shadow the moment Aizat approached. This action didn't go unnoticed; curiousity piqued, Aizat glanced at the prince's companion.

“Hey, who's this?” the masked boy asked.

With the strange boy's eyes upon them, the smaller child quickly looked away.

“This is Aureola,” the prince explained.

Almost immediately, Aizat's head tilted as he crossed his arms. “Hey, are they wearing your mask?” they soon noted. “ _And_ your old cloak?”

“Well, their cloak and mask were stolen by some crows,” the noble revealed, “so I'm letting them borrow mine for the festival.”

"Hm..."

At that, the masked boy nodded. “Okay!” he replied, before moving around to face Aureola.

In response, the younger child darted around to the other side of the prince, nervously staring at the masked boy from a distance.

Even though Aizat was wearing a mask, the young prince _instantly_ could tell the boy was confused.

“They're shy,” the future monarch explained.

“Ohhh... Sorry,” his friend apologized, before waving slightly to Aureola. “I'm Aizat! Nice to meet you!”

Aureola watched the masked boy from the other side of the prince, somewhat wary of the stranger.

The prince glanced over at Aureola, smiling kindly at the younger child. “He's my friend!” he reassuringly told them, “and he's really nice.”

… Gradually, the smaller child waved with a pallid hand.

Aizat giggled, before turning to the prince. “So what are you doing?” the masked boy inquired.

With a wave of his hand, the noble motioned to Ophelia's bakery. “Aureola and I were going to get some pastries and sweets from Mrs. Ophelia,” he explained.

Making sure Aureola couldn't see his face, the prince leaned over to whisper to Aizat. “It's their first festival.”

“WHAA-”

Aizat's surprised yell was abruptly muffled as the prince shoved his hand underneath the boy's mask to cover his mouth.

“And they're _really_ embarrassed about it, for some reason,” the prince murmured in a hushed tone.

Aureola was somewhat startled, hunching down a bit as they stared at the two with huge eyes.

The masked boy blinked, before he nodded in understanding.

The prince removed his hand from his friend's mouth. “Well, let's go get some pastries!” the noble suggested, clasping his hands together.

He could practically feel Aizat beaming as the mask-wearing boy rushed to the door and knocked rapidly. The prince followed him, smiling at Aureola and motioning for them to come along. Eventually, the younger child did, hiding themselves slightly behind the noble. After a few seconds, the door opened, revealing the slightly chubby figure of Ophelia holding a pan of hot muffins. The baker gave the children a warm smile the moment her eyes landed upon them.

“Oh, hello, children!” she joyfully said. “Why, Your Highness! Is that a new cloak?”

A huge smile formed on the prince's rosy-cheeked face as he nodded. “It is!” he exclaimed. “My parents just gave it to me, not a moment ago!”

“How lovely! Such wonderful little stars, as well!” the baker remarked, before turning to Aizat. “And who is this?”

“Aizat, madam!” Aizat announced.

Ophelia reached down to pat the boy's head. “Why, I didn't recognize you, with that mask on,” she giggled, “and what a lovely mask it is, too!”

The boy's masked eyes sparkled with delight. “Thank you, Mrs. Ophelia!”

Soon, the woman's amber eyes fell upon Aureola. “Oh, and who are you, little one?” she asked.

“This is Aureola,” the prince said for the shy child.

In an instant, Ophelia's eyes lit up with realization. “Oh, the village's little deer,” she realized, clasping her hands in front of herself. “Hello, sweetie!”

Aureola stared from behind the prince, before giving the baker a small wave.

“Why,” the baker suddenly said, glancing between Aizat and Aureola. “You two are wearing similar masks, aren't you?”

“I'm letting them borrow mine, for the festival,” explained the noble. “And my old cloak.”

Pure happiness spread across her rosy cheeks as a bright smile stretched across her face. “Oh, how kind of you, you sweet child!” she gasped.

The prince's own rosy cheeks grew red as he bashfully rubbed the back of his head. “It wasn't any trouble, really...” the sheepish boy replied.

While the prince was sheepish, Aizat bounced up and down excitedly.

“Are you giving out pastries yet, Mrs. Ophelia?” the boy asked.

“As a matter of fact, you three arrived just as I was about to start handing them out!” the baker informed them, setting the pan down on a nearby counter. “Now, what would you children like?”

“Blueberry pie, please!” Aizat cried.

“Apple strudel, please,” the prince requested.

Ophelia nodded at the two boys with a smile, before turning to the younger of the three children. “What would you like, sweetie?”

Aureola's masked eyes darted between the baker, the prince, and- very briefly- Aizat, before they were cast to the ground.

“Um,” the prince murmured, his brow furrowing with concern as he glanced at the younger child. “They don't know what they want."

It took the baker only a second to understand. “Oh, that's right,” she quietly said, “this will be their first-”

She cut herself off, shaking her head slightly as she glanced down at the younger masked child. “Would you like to try some samples, and see if there's anything you might like?”

Aureola raised their head back up, ever so slightly, before they gave the baker a small nod.

In just a few seconds, the baker gathered up the the boy's orders, handing a plate of warm blueberry pie to Aizat and some fresh apple strudel for the prince. The two boys accepted the plates eagerly, each dessert sporting a fork that stuck out of it.

Ophelia hurried back into her bakery, and soon emerged with a plate of various treats and a small fork. She made sure that Aureola had a firm hold on the plate before she handed it off to them. “There you go, children. Enjoy!” she exclaimed.

“Thank you!” both of the boys told her, before heading off towards a nearby bench. Aureola nodded quickly and ran after the two, not wanting to be left behind.

Once they were all seat on the bench, Aizat lifted his mask up to eat the pie with great gusto, while the young noble politely ate his strudel with small bites. The boys' younger companion, meanwhile, glanced between Aizat and the prince, and fidgeted slightly out of anxiety.

The prince glanced down at the younger child. He frowned, his brows furrowing in concern. “Is something wrong, Aureola?” he soon asked.

Aureola glanced up at the prince. Though they didn't say anything, he soon realized what might be the problem.

“You don't want to take the mask off to eat, do you?” he inquired.

A nod from the younger child confirmed his theory.

“Well, that's okay!” he told them. “You can just lift it up quickly to take a bite!”

At that, Aureola blinked, before glancing down at the plate of samples. Slowly, they picked up the fork, gently stabbed a bite-sized sample of one of the various pastries and desserts...

… and quickly lifted the mask up from their face to pop the sweet into their mouth. They lowered the mask back down swiftly, chewing silently behind the obscurity it provided them. They repeated this process, gradually kicking their legs in delight as the number of samples on their plate went down, one by one.

  
  


Minutes later, Aizat sat his now-empty plate down on the bench and leaned back.“Mrs. Ophelia's blueberry pie is the _best,”_ he sighed, pulling his mask back down over his face.

The prince smiled, nearly done with his apple strudel. “Personally, I love her apple strudel!” the noble stated. He suddenly hummed slightly. “Then again, Mrs. Ophelia's pastries and desserts are always _magnificent!”_

“But the best one-” the masked boy started to say.

“- is her pumpkin pie!” the prince finished for him, nodding in agreement.

The noble then turned to Aureola, who had pretty much emptied their plate of all of the desserts except for one; a single piece of cheesecake. “So, have you figured out which one is your favorite?” he inquired.

The younger child shook their head.

“Well, that's okay!” he replied. “Even if you don't have a favorite, you can always just pick one you want to get, anyway!”

Aureola glanced down at their plate, before tentatively picking up the cheesecake with their fork.

Both Aizat and the noble glanced at each other.

“Aren't you going to eat that?” Aizat asked the younger child.

Despite their mask, the prince could tell that the pale child was hesitant.

“Don't worry; cheesecake is really good!” he informed them.

They glanced over at him, uncertainty clear in their eyes.

The masked boy giggled a bit. “It doesn't taste like cheese, either. It's _really_ good!” he quietly laughed.

Aureola glanced between them both, hesitant still. Then...

They lifted up their mask enough to eat the bite-sized cheesecake, before pulling it back down.

The two boys leaned forward, watching the younger child closely.

“So?” Aizat asked.

“What do you think?” the prince inquired.

…

A quiet gasp escaped the younger child. Through the eyes of the borrowed mask that the child wore, both boys could see Aureola's eyes light up with stars.

The two boys grinned at each other.

“I think that answers our question,” Aizat remarked, their own eyes clearly hinting at the grin that was spreading behind his mask.

The prince's face lit up with pure joy. “Do you want a bigger piece of cheesecake?” he asked the younger child.

Aureola turned their gaze to the prince and eagerly nodded.

Aizat hopped down from the bench, picking up his fork and empty plate. “Well, let's go!” he cried, “I want another piece of pie, myself!”

  
  


Following his lead, the prince and Aureola hopped down from the bench. The young noble quickly- but politely- stuffed the rest of his strudel into his mouth and swallowed, before the trio ran back to the bakery for another order of sweets.


	23. Friends and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are friends, family is family, and sometimes, both can be both. No matter which they are, however, both share one thing in common:
> 
> They are a person's saving grace in their time of need.

The grandfather clock chimed eight times, signaling morning for the night-locked Subcon Forest.

  
_Seven days had passed since the defeat of Shady Sunburnt's forces._

  
  


Horace floated up to the massive tree home, his sewing basket on one arm, an unfinished dress on the other, and his glasses somehow staying on his face despite his lack of nose. The tailor took his time with floating over the vine bridge, humming a quiet, somber tune as he approached the entrance to the home.

“Hm?”

In an instant, he stopped humming as he noticed a familiar ghost sitting on the ottoman next to the unconscious Snatcher. As he peered through his spectacles, Horace frowned as he discovered Aureola, fast asleep with their face buried in the armrest. A blanket laid at their tail, having fallen off of them during the night.

“Back again?' he whispered, something that was uncharacteristic for the normally-loud tailor. Shaking his head, he set the basket and unfinished dress down on the table before he floated over to the milliner. “This is the third day in a row... poor thing...”

As quietly as he could, the tailor lifted the blanket back up and carefully draped it back over the hat-maker. He held his nonexistent breath as Aureola stirred from the action. The milliner moved an arm up onto the armrest, laying it in front of their head.

He waited, worried that he might have woken the poor ghost.

They didn't wake up. Instead, Aureola settled themselves more comfortably against the chair and continued slumbering.

Horace sighed in relief as quietly as he could. _"Whew..."_

The old tailor hovered there for a moment, his gaze trained on the unconscious Snatcher and the sleeping milliner.

He slowly held his chin. "I can't say I blame you for wanting to keep an eye on the poor boy," Horace whispered, "you two are practically _siblings,_ after all."

In an instant, the ghostly tailor was lost in thought. "I remember one time, so many years ago, when you two helped me with some clothes. I had never seen _anyone_ get the hang of a side-stitch like you two did!"

Horace shook his head, a smile clear on his ghostly face. "With your help, we managed to finish making and mending _every_ piece of clothing, in just _one day!"_ he softly chuckled. "I had so much free time because of you two, that I sat right down and taught you both _everything_ I knew about sewing. Oh, the looks on your faces when you managed to get some of the more _difficult_ sewing techniques right..."

He slowly held his spectral chest and wistfully sighed. "I'll _never_ forget that day..."

  
  


No response came from either the maned ghost or the milliner.

  
  


"Ah... sweet nostalgia..." Horace mumbled, his smile softening slightly. “Well, you get some rest; I'll keep an eye on things, for now."

Floating back to the table, Horace grabbed his dress and sewing basket and sat down on the ground. “I'll be right here, if either of you need me,” he told them, pulling a needle and thread out from the basket.

Once his needle was threaded, the tailor worked on the incomplete dress in silence, quickly resigning himself to the role of watchman for the sake of the two ghosts in the tree home.

* * *

“It's amazing, isn't it?”

  
  


Night had fallen upon Subcon Forest. High up in the sky among the twinkling stars hung the crescent moon, its lucent glow tinged a pale blue.

Up on the Horizon- the highest part of all of Subcon Forest, the young prince, his parents, Aureola, and the prince's friend Aizat all sat upon the grass-covered dirt of the raised cliff. The young noble's father had set up a telescope, which they all took turns peering through to get a closer look at the night sky.

  
  


Everyone was _starstruck_ by the blue moon.

_They had never seen anything so majestic in all of their lives._

  
  


His eyes twinkling with delight, the young prince turned to Aizat and nodded at what the masked boy had said.

“It is,” the prince replied, before returning his gaze to the celestial object. “And it's so close, too! I feel like I could jump _right over it,_ from up here!”

Aizat laughed a bit. “We could jump over the moon, together!” the boy suggest to the noble.

Aureola- who had been quiet for almost all of the time- turned their head to the prince and the other boy, and uttered a single response.

  
  


“Moon jumpers.”

  
  


Aizat and the prince glanced at each other, the former's masked eyes clearly displaying their delight at the thought while the latter's face sported a big grin.

“Hey, that's a good idea!” Aizat told the younger child. “We could be moon jumpers!”

“We'll jump right over the moon, together!” the prince declared.

His parents watched as the three children held hands and jumped up and down, laughing- or in Aureola's case, presumably smiling behind their mask- as they leaped into the air. The couple's faces sported gentle smiles as they glanced at each other, both of them giggling at the sight.

After having jumped up and down for a good few minutes, the three children fell back onto the grass and gazed up at the sea of stars that lit the night sky.

“I think,” Aizat quietly said, “when I grow up, I'll become a member of the other king's court, and I'll make sure to stargaze _every_ night.”

The prince smiled between the two children, before glancing at Aureola. “What do you want to, when you grow up, Aureola?” the young noble asked.

Aureola stared up at the stars for a moment longer, before they turned to the prince. “Hat-maker. Milliner,” was their response.

“Really?” Aizat sat up quickly to look at the younger child. “That's so _cool!”_

The prince and Aureola followed suit. “I'd _love_ to learn how to make hats from you, someday!” the noble told the younger child. “You'll teach me how, won't you?”

They nodded, their eyes filled to the brim with delight.

“What about you, Your Highness?” Aizat teased, giving the boy a joking poke on his shoulder. “I know you'll become king some day, but what do _you_ want to do?”

  
  


For a moment, the prince was a little bit stumped by the question. He cast his yellow eyes upon the starry skies, once more, drifting into deep thought.

  
What did _he_ want to do...?

  
  


It took him a moment to answer the question, but when he did, he did so with _absolute certainty._

“I want to make Subcon the best it can be, so everyone can live happy, peaceful lives.”

He paused, before closing his eyes and giggling. “And I'll make sure that all of the kids get to play _a lot,_ and I'll take them stargazing!” he added, before opening his eyes to watch the stars.

  
  


The luminous light of the stars above mingled with the gentle glow of the blue crescent moon.

  
  


_The sight made him feel at peace._

  
  


“That's what I want to do, when I become the-”

  
  


_“Snatcher.”_

  
  


The strange voice came again, a gentle echo to his right.

  
  


_This time, the prince noticed it._

  
  


He turned his head to Aureola, who was staring right at the noble.

“Did you say something, Aureola?” he asked.

Slowly, the younger child reached up to their face, and removed the mask from their head.

The prince backed away at what he saw, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks.

  
  


A green _ghost,_ with red hair and celestial blue eyes _was staring right at him,_ their expression calm- yet filled with wide-eyed concern.

_“You need to wake up, Snatcher,”_ the ghost said, their voice faint and echoing, yet only a hushed whisper.

"Snatcher?" the boy repeated, completely puzzled. “M-My name isn't Snatcher, it's-”

  
  


Without any warning, his surroundings _vanished_ before his very eyes. His parents, Aizat, Aureola, the pale blue moon, and all of the stars slowly faded into an inky black void.

His body shifted into a shadowy, inky form; a form with a glowing mouth and eyes, clawed hands, and a tail.

  
  


_“He still hasn't woken up, yet..._

_“- can't be dead; he's_ already _a ghost!”_

_“-possibly in some kind of coma for spirits?”_

_“He wouldn't be here if he was_ truly _gone. I don't think-”_

  
  


Those voices... They belonged to Ophelia, Raymond, Diana, and Julio...

  
  


_His family._

  
  


But what were they _talking_ about? Coma? Ghosts? Spirits? What they were saying didn't make _any sense!_

  
  


_He needed to get out of here!_

  
  


… But where _was_ here? He was _surrounded_ by _darkness!_

  
  


_He needed to get back to the villagers. To his parents, to Aizat, to Aureola-_

  
  


Panicked, the prince flew and flew in every which way, trying his _hardest_ to escape. But all around him was nothing but darkness. It was _infinite;_ no end _in sight._

  
  


_How long had he spent flying in here?_ Time was _impossible_ to distinguish in this unusual void.

  
  


A horrifying thought soon crossed his mind, bringing his efforts to leave to a **grinding halt.**

  
  


**_What if he couldn't escape?_**

* * *

Aureola awoke to _utter chaos._

  
  


Frederick, Julio, Diana, Raymond, Ophelia, and Horace were outside of the tree home, all of them engaged in a serious conversation. Frustration leaked out into their tones as they spoke; this only suggested that they had been talking for quite a while, before the hat-maker woke up.

... Now that they thought about it, the argument going on outside was probably what woke them up, in the first place.

Despite some slight hesitance about getting any closer to a possibly-tense situation, the milliner gradually floated up from the ottoman. The blanket fell from their shoulders as they floated towards the entrance, pausing only to move the sewing basket and dress on the floor onto the table, before they sneaked a peek outside of the tree.

Ophelia was maintaining strong eye contact with Raymond, her hands on her hips and a worried frown on her face.

“The children _can't_ see him like this,” Ophelia frantically told them. “They _already_ saw him pass out; it _horrified_ them! You remember, don't you?”

Raymond frowned as they shook their head, their wide-eyed, raised-brow expression clearly displaying their discomfort. “I _know,_ but they can't focus on their studies,” the schoolteacher explained, motioning towards the village in the distance with a wave of their arm. “They're all so _worried_ about him!”

Diana sat on the bridge, their arms crossed as they listened closely to everyone.

“We can't keep them away from him, for much longer,” Horace pointed out, his ghostly brow creasing as he spoke. “The children aren't even _playing,_ anymore. At the very least, instead of _hiding_ Snatcher away from them, we should let them know he's still _here!”_

Aureola's eyes grew _massive._ They darted to the Snatcher and gently shook his arm, their eyes locked onto the specter's featureless face.

“Snatcher,” they urgently whispered.

  
  


The Snatcher didn't respond, remaining completely limp.

  
  


Aureola frowned _deeply,_ glancing over to the entrance briefly before they turned back to him. “You need to wake up, Snatcher,” they urged, trying their best to help the ghost wake up.

  
No matter how hard they tried, the inky ghost remained unconscious.

  
  


“He still hasn't woken up, yet...” Ophelia trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut.

Raymond rapidly shook their head, their light brown locs whipping around from the movement. “He can't be dead; he's _already_ a ghost!” they loudly argued.

“Well, what does that _mean?”_ Diana asked. “Does it mean he's possibly in some kind of coma for spirits?”

  
  


Glancing between the Snatcher and the other villagers outside, Aureola frowned deeply, their eyes screwing shut tightly.

  
  


“That seems like what's going on,” Julio informed them, “he wouldn't be here if he was _truly_ gone. I don't think we need to worry about him never waking up.”

Frederick nodded at Julio's statement, a thoughtful look on his face as he tented his fingers.

“I agree,” the scientist stated, catching the attention of the other ghosts. “Zacharias did some reading, and what they found out seems to confirm a theory I had. I think that he just used _too much_ energy up at once, and he fell unconscious in order to prevent himself from using any more until he regained enough.”

Horace held their chin. “So it _is_ kind of like a coma...” he muttered. “But instead of being injured, he's just low on energy...”

Managing a hopeful smile, Frederick nodded at Horace. _“Precisely!”_ the scientist exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Which means he _will_ wake up eventually; it's only a matter of waiting.”

“Can't the children wait until he's _awake_ to see him?” Ophelia asked, clasping her hands together in a pleading manner.

“I don't know,” Diana suddenly said, rising up from the vine bridge. “It could be bad for them if they don't see him.”

_“We've been hiding him from them this whole time!”_ Raymond cried, their eyes wide with panic and concern. “The children can't focus on _anything;_ _keeping them away from him isn't helping them, at all!”_

“Letting them see Snatcher in such a state won't help them, either!” Ophelia yelled.

“Well, what should we do, then?” Julio asked, gesturing to the tree home. “Right now, it seems like no matter if we let them see him or not, it's going to hurt them. What do we do?”

  
  


“Let them see him.”

  
  


All of the villagers whirled around to the entrance of the tree home, instantly silenced by those four words.

Aureola hovered by the entrance, a hand placed against the wall as their calm, somber face stared at the group.

Ophelia was the first to raise an objection.

“But seeing him like _this-”_

_"They should see him,”_ Aureola insisted, their voice quiet but sincere. “Knowing Snatcher is here will help them.”

“Are you sure about that?” Diana inquired, their gaze locked onto the milliner.

Gradually, the hat-maker gave the blacksmith a nod. “It's better than not knowing."

Ophelia persisted in fighting the idea. "But the children _know_ he's here! We told them so; we told them he's fine, just resting!"

  
  


The milliner's already-sad eyes _overflowed_ with _pure sorrow._

  
  


Dolefully, Aureola **shattered** any further opposition to letting the children see the forest's unconscious ruler, with just one _**somber, regretful sentence.**_

  
  


"That's what _she_ told us, _before she killed us all."_

  
  


The other ghosts glanced at each other in pure _horror,_ only now realizing that what Aureola said was _true._

  
  


_**Vanessa** had lied to them for days on end, and held the prince **captive** for all of that time..._

  
  


Ophelia frowned deeply, glancing down to the ground. “I... I suppose we should let them see him," she finally conceded, rubbing her arm slightly as she spoke, "but someone should stay with them-”

“I will,” Aureola interrupted.

Instantly, Frederick turned towards them. “Aureola, you've spent quite a few nights watching over Snatcher,” he was quick to point out. "Perhaps you should-"

He suddenly stopped speaking as the milliner stared the scientist _directly_ in the eye.

“I will watch them,” they firmly told him.

  
  


_Silence descended upon the area like a thin bed sheet._

  
  


“I don't see any problem with that,” Diana commented.

“Neither do I,” Frederick stated.

“I'm okay with that,” said Julio.

“I think that'd be a wonderful idea!” Raymond exclaimed.

“Whatever is best for the children,” was all Horace said.

Slowly, the baker let her arms fall to her sides as she sighed. “Well, I suppose it's okay, in that case."

Aureola managed to give them all a small, sad smile as the villagers finally came to an agreement.

“Well, let's go get the children,” the smithy quietly suggested, tilting their head towards the path to the village.

Nodding to one another, the six villagers made their way to Subcon Village.

Aureola floated across the thorny vine bridge, clasping their hands together in front of themselves as they waited for the children to arrive.

  
  


No matter how _painful_ it was for the children to see the Snatcher like this, Aureola _knew_ that they needed to _see_ that he was _still here._

* * *

_**He was so, so cold.** _

  
  


Darkness surrounded him; not a hint of light could be seen in the abyss as the ghostly prince found himself _hopelessly trapped._

  
  


_How was he supposed to get back to the village? To his family?_

**He was trapped. _There was no escape._**

  
  


**“Mother, Father...”** the noble murmured, holding his head in his clawed hands. **“Where are you? Where is everyone...?”**

A wave of sadness washed over the prince.

_He shouldn't be here;_ he already _knew_ that, but he also had a gnawing feeling that he wasn't supposed to be back on the Horizon with Aizat, Aureola, _or_ his parents.

  
  


But _why?_ Wasn't he _supposed_ to be there? _Where else_ could he _possibly_ need to be?

  
  


Pain _consumed_ him, _chilling him_ to his nonexistent bones even _more_ than the freezing darkness that was all around him.

He felt disoriented and confused.

  
  


He was the _prince._ _Where else_ was he supposed to be but in Subcon-

  
  


He _froze_ on the spot.

  
  


_Something was **wrong.**_

  
  


_Overwhelming grief_ suddenly enveloped him. It was different from the gentle sadness that had flowed over him like waves on a beach; this new sadness **stabbed** his being like _sharpened knives._

There was another difference between his previous somber state and this sudden, _agonizing_ grief.

  
  


Though the sorrow he felt right at that moment was _immense,_ **it wasn't coming from him.**

  
  


Who was sad? Why were they upset?

  
  


**“Hello?”** the prince called, his distorted voice ringing through the darkness.

He strained the ears he no longer had, trying to hear where the person in distress might be.

Tiny cries broke the silence of the pitch-black abyss; cries that he somehow knew he was _feeling,_ rather than _hearing._

  
  


_Snatcher, pl-please wake up!_

  
  


Wait, Snatcher? Who was Snatcher? He was the _prince,_ not...

… Why was that voice so _familiar_ to him?

  
  


He was **tremendously distressed** by the weeping, but he didn't know _why._

  
  


Suddenly, his senses were _overwhelmed_ by many tiny voices. He held his head in alarm, his glowing eyes screwing shut as he tried to process all of the distraught wails that rang through the darkness.

The voices seemed like they were coming from _outside_ of the dark abyss he was trapped in, yet they seemed to _surround him,_ at the same time. Each voice was _fraught_ with _fear;_ it was as though they were afraid of losing something, or _someone._

  
  


_Pl-Please w-wake up...!_

_We don't want you to die, again!_

_Don't leave us!_

_Snatcher..._

  
  


... All of a sudden, the pieces of the messed-up puzzle clicked into place.

  
  


That's _right. That's_ who he was.

  
  


**The Snatcher.**

  
  


But who was crying? He _swore,_ if he didn't know any better, he would have thought the sobs were coming from-

  
  


_Snatcher, you need to wake up!_

_You're the best villain when we sword fight! Who am I supposed to fight with if you're gone!?_

_Wake up! Please...!_

_He'll wake up. He_ always _does!_

  
  


_**Children.** _

His nonexistent heart felt like it had been **stabbed by knives.**

He _knew_ those cries.

  
  


The children.

_His kids._

**They were _so upset._**

**_  
  
_**

A tiny, broken voice echoed through the void.

  
  


_Please wake up...!_

  
  


That was _Penelope's_ voice.

Wake up...? Was he _dreaming?_

... Yes, that was it! He must be _dreaming,_ right now!

  
  


_Please don't leave like Momma..._

  
  


His eyes **snapped open.** The thought that they would think he would leave them spurred the ghost to frantically call out to the child.

**“No, no, Penelope, I _won't_ leave you-!”**

  
  


He needed to _wake up._

  
  


A pinprick of light appeared in front of the ghost.

  
  


_I don't want you to die...!_

  
  


The voices were coming _from the light._

Desperation seized him. Throwing all cautionary thought to the wind, the ghost **hurtled** himself at full-speed, stretching a clawed hand out towards the quickly-growing spot of light.

  
  


_I don't want to lose you, too...!_

  
  


No, they _won't_ lose him! He will **never** let that happen!

  
  


_He needed to_ **wake up.**

  
  


The light grew _rapidly_ as he swiftly closed in on it, its blinding glow soon replacing the darkness of the void. He didn't stop flying _as fast as he possibly could,_ fighting with **all of his strength** to go through the light. It enveloped him in its pure white brilliance as the endless abyss faded away.

  
  


Grief _surrounded_ him. He heard the terrified, shaky wails of the children _all around him._

_It wounded him_ **deeply** _to hear the little ones so_ **distraught.**

  
  


**He needed to _wake up._**

  
  


One desperate plea echoed from all of their tiny voices.

  
  


_Wake up, Snatcher!_

  
  


His nonexistent heart **lurched** in his chest.

_He felt a power_ **surge** _inside of his ghostly being; a feeling that was so_ **overwhelmingly strong,** _and the likes of which he had_ **never** _felt before._

  
  


**A raging fire was lit inside of him.**

  
  


_The air around him_ **trembled** _as a_ **primal roar** _burst from his fanged mouth._

_He made only one demand to himself as he charged towards the light's end._

  
  


_**"WAKE UP!”** _

* * *

From the inky blank face of the Snatcher, two yellow lines appeared above a third as consciousness slowly came to him. Blearily, the two lines on top shifted, slowly widening into half-lidded, glowing yellow ovals. He couldn't see or hear anything, for a moment, and he was too tired to so much as groan from exhaustion. Once his sight and hearing gradually returned, the ghost could make out the glowing forms of blue mushrooms hanging upside-down on the ceiling.

… Was he in his home-

  
  


_Something shifted on top of his chest._

  
  


Glancing down, he soon noticed a familiar masked spirit laying on top of him. And another. And another...

His eyes widened slightly as he looked around, realizing that he was _completely surrounded_ by the mask-wearing ghosts, all of them nuzzling into him for comfort. _Agonizing_ amounts of sadness **hit the ghost like a truck** as he sensed the muffled whines, whimpers, and cries of the children around him, all of them restless from worry.

  
  


_Why were they so upset-_

  
  


All of a sudden, he remembered _everything._

  
  


He had been fighting _Shady's forces._

He had fought **Vanessa.**

He remembered _returning to the well._

He remembered the children being _so happy_ to see him.

He remembered _everything going black._

  
  


_They saw him pass out._

  
  


**His non-existent heart broke _clean in half._**

  
  


**They were _worried_** **about him.**

  
  


He looked to the children laying on his chest, their faces buried into his mane. Penelope and Susan were both face-down in his fluff, while Anthony and Denise were gripping the ends of his mane the best they could with their tails.

Sluggishly, he placed a talon from each of his hands on top of Penelope and Susan's heads.

Their sobs ceased _instantly._ They lifted their heads up, their masks stained with tears as they turned their gazes to his face.

They were _silent,_ as though they couldn't _believe_ what they were seeing.

  
  


Susan spoke, first.

  
  


_Snatcher...?_

  
  


The heads of the other children rose up. The Snatcher sensed a collective gasp escape from the little ones as _overwhelming emotions_ emanated from them; mixtures of surprise and relief, but also a lingering sense of _fear._

**“It's okay, kids,”** he murmured, **“I'm fine...”**

Any other possible sounds that could have occurred in that moment were _drowned out_ by the children **bursting into tears.**

  
  


_You're okay-!_

_We thought you were dead!_

_Y-You didn't wake up for a long time...!_

  
  


He _instantly_ wished he had more than just two hands to comfort the children with.

  
  


**“I know...”** he tiredly mumbled, **“I'm all right, children. Everything's okay, now...”**

  
  


_I told you he'd be okay!_

  
  


That was _Anthony_ speaking; the maned ghost could tell, even in his currently-disoriented state.

  
  


_I told you he'd... I told you... I..._

  
  


Anthony sniffled, his entire form quivering as fresh new tears streamed down his mask.

The Snatcher couldn't help but frown, a somber look now in his eyes.

  
  


**Stab him in the non-existent heart, why don't you?**

  
  


His movements slow and gentle, the inky specter lifted up a hand and pulled Anthony over, resting the child against his mane.

Anthony hiccuped and started bawling, seconds later.

The spectral ruler glanced at the other children, managing to make his fanged mouth shift into a small, comforting smile.

**“Come here, kids,”** he murmured, holding his other arm out to them.

Swarming children _flooded_ his vision as they all flew _right into his arms,_ each one shaking with silent sobs that he _easily_ sensed.

All he could do was _hold them the best he could._

  
  


He felt _utterly exhausted,_ but at the very least, he was conscious enough to **comfort his kids.**

  
  


As he held all of the children close to himself, the Snatcher happened to glance up to the entrance of his tree home.

  
  


Aureola floated there, wide-eyed like a startled deer.

He let his smile grow slightly, just to let them know he was okay.

  
  


Their lips grew thin as slight tears filled their celestial blue eyes.

  
  


His smile _vanished._

  
  


Before he could say _anything,_ they closed their eyes and floated over to his side. The Snatcher went silent as the ghostly milliner opened their teary eyes back up and managed a small smile.

**“You know... I was just dreaming...”** he started to say, trailing off every few seconds between groups of words, **“... about a quiet... younger sibling of mine...”**

Aureola's smile grew shaky as they rubbed at their spectral eyes. Without any warning, they threw their arms around his neck in a tight- but very careful- hug.

He returned it carefully, moving one arm from the children he still held to wrap it around the hat-maker's shoulder.

"I missed you, big brother..." Aureola whispered, their words choked by a quiet sob.

He was silent, for a moment.

Slowly, his eyes closed as he lifted his hand from their should and gently ruffled their hair.

**"I'm sorry I kept you waiting."**

For a good minute, the phantom stayed like that, holding Subcon's children with one arm and ruffling Aureola's hair with the other as they cried into his shoulder.

Finally, Aureola pulled away and smiled at him, their eyes still glistening with tears.

**“I'd offer a handkerchief... but I'm too tired to summon one...”** he chuckled, exhaustion clear on his face.

From the look they gave him, he could tell the hat-maker was asking him how he was feeling.

**“I'm... conscious, at least,”** he managed to admit, glancing down at the children he still held in his shadowy arms. **“How... long was I unconscious...?”**

Aureola's smile faded as they carefully- and to his confusion, somewhat _firmly-_ set a hand on the ruler's arm.

“A week.”

He didn't register what they said, at first; he simply nodded and uttered a single **“Ah...”**

  
  


**…**

  
  


Aureola's firmly-placed hand quickly made sense, as he nearly _lurched_ out of his chair once the words clicked in his mind. Fortunately, the hat-maker didn't need to worry about the Snatcher flying up from the chair, as the specter's low energy made the sudden movement rather weak and slight.

**_“A-A week!?”_** the maned ghost nearly cried, keeping his voice low for the sake of the children he was still holding.

With a small nod, the hat-maker released his arm.

He laid back in the chair, his exhausted mind struggling to make sense of the countless thoughts swimming through it.

 **“A _week...”_** he mumbled, his glowing eyes shifting into thin lines as he closed them.

  
  


_We missed you..._

  
  


He immediately _felt_ Susan's statement.

The specter's eyes snapped _wide open_ with alarm as he glanced at Aureola. A small frown from the hat-maker was all the confirmation he needed to prove his suspicions.

  
  


_They had been_ **so worried** _all of this time... **all of them...**_

  
  


His fanged mouth turned into a deep frown as he held all of the children closer to himself.

**“I am _so sorry_ that I made... that I made all of you worry _so much_ about me,”** was his murmured apology. **“I-”**

He suddenly stopped, finding himself at a loss for words. His face contorted into a pained expression as he rested his head atop the children's. **“I'm so sorry, kids...”**

Amidst the silent cries of the children, the inky ghost sensed a few tearful words from some of them.

  
  


_I'm glad you're okay..._

_You woke up... I'm happy you woke up...!_

_You're- You're back...! You're_ really _back...!_

  
  


An exhausted sigh escaped the Snatcher as he lifted his head up. His gaze fell upon the entrance to his massive tree, where Aureola must have moved to, at some point- he didn't know _how_ he didn't notice them move, but his mind was too focused on _more important_ matters to question this.

Though the hat-maker didn't say a word, he knew what they were doing just from the look they gave him.

_“I'll tell the others you're awake,”_ was what the look meant.

Quietly, the Snatcher nodded, managing his own weak smile that expressed his gratitude.

As the milliner hurried off to the village, the Snatcher gazed down at the children- _his kids-_ and hugged them closer as he soothed them.

  
  


**“No matter what happens, kids, I promise you that I will _never_ leave you.”**

* * *

**“So... what happened while I was out...?”**

  
The Snatcher leaned back in his plush armchair, too tired to sit up straight like he normally did. All around his inky form were Subcon's children, either perched upon the back of the chair or the armrests, held against his mane by the specter, himself, or lying on the floor by his tail. The poor spirits had been _so relieved_ to see him awake again, that they **stubbornly** refused to leave his side, even to _sleep._

The adults of the village had dropped _everything_ to see him, the moment they heard he was conscious. There wasn't a dry eye in the entire tree-home as the villagers crowded around him, relief flooding their spectral beings as they smiled and hugged the maned ghost. Their ruler did the best he could to return their embraces- he still felt _completely drained,_ after all- and reassure them that he was fine. Once each of the adults had voiced their relief that he was awake, and once all of the children had fallen asleep, the Snatcher wasted no time inquiring about what transpired while he had been unconscious.

After glancing at one another to see who wanted to go first, Julio cleared his throat and floated up to the phantom.

“Well, after you passed out, Ophelia and Joseph took the children back to the village while the rest of us carried you back here,” the gardener explained, motioning to the specter with a hand. “We got you dried off, put a blanket on you, and we waited for you to wake up...”

A forlorn frown crept onto the blue ghost's face as he glanced back at the other ghosts. “... but you didn't,” he continued, shifting slightly at the uncomfortable memory. “So we all kept waiting.”

“We cleaned up the place, while you were out,” Zacharias suddenly said, motioning to Joseph and Anne. The cobbler and clockmaker both nodded slightly as the miller grinned at the forest's ruler. “There was a _lot_ of junk left behind by the soldiers and the sorcerers, and it was all a big mess,” they told him, “so we thought you'd appreciate us tidying things up a bit.”

At that, the Snatcher's fanged mouth turned up into a small smile.

**“Heh... thanks, you three...”** he thanked them, his gratitude immense, even though he wasn't in a state to properly show it.

“Anything for you, big guy!” Anne gave him a thumbs up and a big grin.

Joseph smiled and shrugged. “I was happy to help out in any way I could,” he replied. “Zacharias came up with the idea, though.”

The specter couldn't help but raised a surprised figurative eyebrow as he turned his attention to the miller, who was leaning back with their arms behind their head and a relaxed- yet obviously proud- expression on their face.

“What can I say?” Zacharias sighed, smugly nonchalant as they closed their eyes and shrugged. “I just felt like it, so I gave them the idea.”

The Snatcher grinned slightly, chuckling weakly before his expression softened. **“Thanks, Zacharias,”** he finally said, nodding at the miller slightly.

A genuinely happy grin replaced the proud smile on their face as they saluted him. “Happy to help, Boss!”

Amused to no end by the new title that the miller had given him, the shadowy phantom returned his gaze to the other villagers. **“Has anything else happened?”** he asked them all.

This time, Diana was the one that came forward.

“We've been keeping an eye on _her_ manor,” they reported to him. “There's a lot of snow piled up in front of the entrance. Was that your doing?”

He nodded at the smithy. **“Yes, that was... me...”** He trailed off, the corners of his glowing mouth turning down at the mention of her. The specter glanced down and to his right, gazing at the wall of his home.

The smithy smiled warmly at him and pat his shoulder, drawing his attention back to them. “Wonderful job; she won't be getting outside, anytime soon!” they praised.

  
  


That made him feel _somewhat_ better. He continued frowning, however, as another concern he had came to mind.

**  
  
**

**“What about Shady and his forces...?”** the maned ghost inquired.

Slowly, the blacksmith shook their head. “We have no idea,” Diana revealed, “They haven't returned to the forest. Not a single one of them.”

“We have been keeping watch, though,” Gwendolyn joined in, her voice as calm and serious as ever. “We established patrol routes around the entrances to the forest, searched every corner of Subcon, and we set up more traps. There has been no sign of anyone else.”

The inky ghost's face scrunched up slightly as he ruminated about this. **“We will... need to keep careful... careful watch,”** he managed to say. **“Shady could... have his forces regroup and... and attack us again, at any time...”**

This time, William placed a hand on the Snatcher's shoulder. “We've got it all covered, my boy,” the weaver assured the ruler. A hint of pride was on William's face as he beamed. “The entrances to the forest are so well-secured, anyone that tries to enter will be sent _reeling back!”_

**“Good...”** the Snatcher replied, before looking to the other villagers. **“Once I am... able to, I'll go... I'll go to the desert and... and confront Shady, myself.”**

  
  


The villagers murmured to one another, concern hinted in their tones.

  
  


“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Maurice anxiously asked while wringing their hands.

Though still sluggish, the taller ghost gave them as firm of a nod as he could. **“It's the only way... we will _ever_ be able to... to stop this madness he's caused...”** the ruler of the forest informed them.

  
  


The villager were all reluctant to admit he was right, but they eventually nodded to one another in agreement.

  
  


“He has a point,” Selene admitted.

“It'd be worse to leave this be,” Horace agreed.

“We need to get to the root of our troubles, before we can solve the problem,” Raymond pointed out.

  
  


Eventually, they all turned their heads back to their ruler.

  
  


All of a sudden, Ophelia flew over to the Snatcher and pointed a finger directly at his face. “But until then, you _will_ rest,” the baker sternly told him.

The serious look on her face reminded him of when she had scolded him for making a mess of the houses in the village from the paint fight he had with Selene and the children. This time, the motherly glare she was giving him wasn't reprimanding, but an order that clearly said, “Don't even think for a _second_ about moving from that chair.”

  
  


He knew better than to argue with Ophelia when she gave him _that_ look.

  
  


**“I will, Ophelia...”** he murmured, managing a tiny smile.

Her expression softened. Mindful of the children all around him, she gently gave the ruler a hug, which he returned.

“Oh, I'm so glad you're awake...!” she quietly exclaimed, before pulling away from the specter. Clasping her hands together, the motherly baker gave him a cheerful smile. “We should let you rest; you _just_ woke up, and it's starting to get a bit late... Is there anything you need?”

A small chuckle escaped the Snatcher as he shook his head. **“I'm... I'm fine, for now,”** was his reply. **“You should all get some sleep, as well...”**

“Should we take the children back, with us?” Frederick asked, motioning to the countless sleeping children that surrounded the ruler of Subcon Forest.

**“Let them... sleep,”** the maned ghost told him. **“It might scare them if... if they wake up and... they're back home. I don't...”**

Without realizing it, he slowly screwed his eyes shut.

  
The mental image of the ghostly children _bursting into tears_ thinking that him waking up had been merely a dream flashed through his mind.

  
  


**“I don't want them to be upset... because if they wake up at home-”**

“They might think they were dreaming everything that happened, today,” Clarissa interrupted.

He nodded at the woodcutter. **“Exactly...”**

Frederick netted his ghostly fingers together and smiled at the shadowy phantom. “We'll let them sleep here for tonight, then.”

**“Thank you...”**

  
  


The moment he finished speaking, the adults all moved over to him, each taking turns hugging him and mentioning how glad they were to have him back. Eventually, the tree home became a bit emptier as all of the adults glided out and down the path to Subcon Village, ready to head to bed after all of the excitement.

With the sleeping children the only ones remaining in his home, the Snatcher released a small sigh and closed his eyes, ready to rest for the night...

… Or, at least he _was,_ until one of the children- _Julia-_ started shivering.

He gradually opened his eyes, his figurative brow knitted as he glanced at the shuddering child. A frown crossed his face as more of the children began trembling.

They were _cold,_ but he couldn't move the blanket on himself over the kids without waking some of them up-

The fluttering of cloth caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a blanket being placed over Julia.

Glancing up, he realized that Aureola was floating _right in front of him._ Countless blankets were draped over their arms, which they were gently placing over the dreaming children, one at a time.

  
  


He couldn't help but smile at the sight.

  
  


As they made progress in ensuring each child would stay warm as they slept, the milliner quickly noticed the inky ghost watching them. They gave him a small smile as they moved over to Denise, and gently placed the woven blanket he had made over the little one.

Denise shifted slightly underneath the blanket, before they settled down and continued slumbering.

A small chuckle escaped him. **“A grand blanket for the little hero,”** he murmured, watching the child sleep for a few seconds.

Once Aureola placed the last of the blankets on the remaining children that didn't have one, they moved to the ottoman and sat down, lifting their own blanket up from the floor and wrapping it around their shoulders.

He raised a figurative eyebrow as he realized something. **“Have you been sleeping here...?”** was the first question he thought to ask.

The hat-maker's smile faded as they nodded in confirmation.

The Snatcher couldn't hide the subtle frown that formed on his inky face. **“I'm sorry that... that I made all of you worry...”** he mumbled.

Aureola shook their head and smiled reassuringly; their way of saying _"It's okay."_

Slowly, his frown vanished as he glanced up, letting his aching ghostly body relax against the back of the chair.

**“You know, it's funny,”** he suddenly murmured, **“I didn't sense you return-”**

He cut himself off.

  
  


He didn't _sense them return._

Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't sense _any_ of their souls, or the souls of the _other villagers,_ or...

  
  


His glowing eyes _widened_ in alarm.

**“A-Aureola, _I can't sense souls,”_** he whispered, panic immediately taking hold of him. **“Why can't I-”**

Aureola immediately silenced him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down,” they quietly instructed, “you're tired.”

  
  


… They were right. He needed to _calm down._

  
  


Even though he didn't need to do it, anymore, he took a deep breath and let it out. **“I... You're right,”** he mumbled. **“I guess I'm still... still tired...”**

The milliner stared him directly in the eye, and told him to do only one thing.

"Sleep."

  
  


Finally, the ghostly ruler laid his head back against the chair. His eyes soon shifted into thin lines as he let himself relax.

 **“... You're going to sleep here again... aren't you?”** he asked, opening his left eye to glance at Aureola.

Aureola smiled a bit more, nodding as they clasped their hands in their ghostly lap.

In mere seconds, his smile returned. **“All right... I'll... I'll see you in the morning...”**

As he closed his eye and let his exhausted mind wander, he uttered one simple thing before he drifted off to sleep.

  
  


**“Good Night, Aureola...”**

“Good Night, Snatcher.”


	24. Motherly Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are naturally motherly, even if they don't have kids of their own.

Over the course of the next week, the Snatcher was basically bedridden- or _chair-ridden,_ to be precise. The most he could do was either talk to the other ghostly inhabitants of Subcon Forest, or read, since Ophelia was **stalwart** in making sure he didn't strain himself too much.

  
  


Not that he minded, really; he felt _awful,_ he _couldn't move fast,_ and even _speaking_ was a bit of a task for him.

  
  


Once he felt up to reading, Raymond wasted no time showing him all of the letters and drawings the children made for him while he was unconscious.

It hurt a bit to read the letters; each piece of parchment made him feel guilty about how they saw him pass out. The sight must have _frightened_ them!

But, at the same time, the fact that they wrote him letters showed how much they _cared_ about him, as well.

And then there were the drawings from the younger children who still had trouble with writing. Pictures of the jack-o'-lantern ghost smiling as he played games with the masked spirits, made them gifts, and gave them hugs put an actual on the ghostly ruler's face.

  
  


_They were such sweet kids._

  
  


On top of the letters and drawings cheering him up, his chats with the adults _definitely_ made his day better; they mostly talked about what happened that day, the current tasks needed to be done, and other such things. They made him feel like he was still doing something- which he _desperately_ wanted to be doing something. Talking about things- like the bridge that apparently collapsed in the swamp, somehow- helped him feel like he was still doing his duty as their ruler, so he would talk as much as he could!

It wasn't just the adults that would visit him, either. The children would rush over to his home just to check on him, and it _warmed his very soul_ whenever he saw their masked faces peeking through the massive entrance. The serpentine spirits would hurry inside to talk with him about something they learned in their classes that day, or to show them a drawing they made, or something they found in the forest that they thought was cool. Their excited chattering and chirping made his weariness melt away and brightened his night-locked days as he laid in his chair and listened closely to whatever they had to say.

Despite the cheerfulness he felt, the fear of another attack was still hidden away in the corner of his mind.

What would they do if the Cabinet Minister sent more forces to Subcon? The Snatcher was in no state to deal with another battle...

But he shook those thoughts away, trying to remain positive for the children's sake, even if he still held those worries in a dark corner of his shadowy mind.

Despite his concerns about Shady initiating another attack against them, the forest became relatively peaceful.

  
  


Until one day...

* * *

_“AUUUUUUUGH!”_

  
  


A sharp yell abruptly shattered the silence of the forest, and startled the Snatcher awake. His mind was hazy, but despite his fogginess, he _immediately_ recognized who the scream belonged to.

  
  


_Selene._

  
  


**She was in trouble.**

  
  


He flew up from his chair, darting out of the massive tree towards the direction the scream came from: the swamp. Though he still felt sluggish, the thought of one of his people being in danger got his nonexistent adrenaline pumping as he rushed towards where Selene was at, blindly ignoring anything else that was around him.

_Was it the spiders? Another statue? Was it **her!?**_

None of the above, he soon saw. And what it was **stunned him to his very core.**

  
  


Selene was on the broken bridge, no doubt to repair the walkway over the swamp's waters. Instead of fixing the wooden bridge, however, she was currently fighting to free herself from-

  
  


**Purple hands!?**

  
  


Three purple hands were _tightly_ wrapped around the ghost, trying to _drag her down into the swamp!_

Without a second thought, the Snatcher rushed over and wrapped an arm around the carpenter. His glowing features _twisted_ into a **fierce** scowl and **furious** glare, the specter _**pulled**_ Selene back across the bridge with ease, tearing her away from the tight hold the arms had on her.

Once they were safely floating over solid ground, the phantom released the shaken ghost.

**“Selene, are you okay?”** was the first thing he asked her, immediately glancing over her for injuries.

“Y-Yeah!” Selene quickly answered, still wide-eyed and terrified from what occurred. “What _were_ those things!?”

**“I don't-”**

He suddenly stopped speaking as he glanced back towards the swamp, his glowing eyes suddenly growing _enormous._

  
  


The murky, muddy waters were no longer their usual earthy brown. Now, the waters of the swamp were shifting shades of a dark indigo, with lighter shades of purple here and there. While he couldn't spy the arms that had grabbed Selene, he soon realized the lighter purple bits had unusual shapes...

  
  


_… They kind of looked like screaming faces-_

  
  


The maned ghost _recoiled_ from the swamp, horror displayed upon his darkened face with an open-mouthed frown and wide-eyed, fearful stare.

Behind him, Diana, Clarissa, and Julio rushed over to the two ghosts, their weapons in hand.

“Snatcher?” Diana soon noticed, raising a ghostly brow at him. “What happened?”

Slowly, the Snatcher turned around, Selene mimicking his movement. As the two gazed at the worried faces of the other three ghosts, the ruler of the forest closed his eyes while Selene rubbed her arm.

  
  


For a moment, the noble specter didn't know what to tell them.

  
  


**“We... We have a problem,”** was what he finally settled on saying, **“tell everyone else to _stay away from the swamp.”_**

* * *

The ghosts of the forest all kept their distance from the swamp, from that point on. Selene- despite her integrity as a carpenter- absolutely _refused_ to give repairing the bridges another attempt.

  
  


The Snatcher agreed with her; it wasn't worth the risk of her being pulled under by... _whatever_ those hands were.

  
  


If there was any good news about the swamp's current state, it was the fact that it didn't seem like any of the murky mud had seeped into the well- something that he was _very_ grateful for.

That aside, there was still the problem of _what_ could possibly have caused the swamp's sudden change into a purple, dangerous mess. If something in there could _grab ghosts,_ that made it **a threat to everyone there, _including the children._**

Ophelia was still _adamant_ on him resting, so he was essentially glued to his chair and unable to do _any_ research on what the swamp water might be. Fortunately, Frederick, Julio, and- surprisingly- Zacharias were already nose-deep into research for him, when they weren't busy with their usual daily tasks.

  
  


After a solid week of reading book after book, the Snatcher was greeted by three downcast faces.

  
  


**“I take it your research isn't going well?”** the inky ghost ventured.

The shaking of the three spirit's heads confirmed the maned ghost's suspicions.

“Unfortunately, we didn't find anything useful in the tome, or any of the books we have on-hand detailing ghosts, spirits, and magic,” Frederick informed him.

The forest's ruler slumped slightly in his chair. **“So we have _no idea_ what it is that's in the swamp,”** he groaned, holding his held with a hand and leaning against an armrest.

“Not a clue,” the scientist said, defeat hinted in his tone of voice, “it _might_ be because there's _never_ been any set of circumstances that led to anywhere else being in a state like Subcon Forest is in, right now. _Any number_ of things could have happened to make the swamp turn into its...”

He trailed off, wincing slightly at the thought of the now-indigo swamp. “... rather _creepy_ state.”

  
  


For a moment, all four of the ghosts were silent.

  
  


“Well, we may not be able to block off the swamp,” Zacharias suddenly spoke up, “but maybe we can pick back up looking into ways to keep _her_ in the manor, you know?”

The thought of finding a way to keep Vanessa in the manor made the Snatcher lift his head back up from his hand. **“You're right,”** he agreed, managing to smile at the miller. **“Let's focus on finding a way to keep _her_ in the manor-”**

_“For goodness' sake, you three!”_

  
  


A sharp, stern tone made all four of them _flinch._

Out of nowhere, Ophelia rushed in with her hands on her figurative hips as she gave them all that familiar, motherly glare of disapproval.

Julio smiled sheepishly as he gestured with his hands. “A-Ah, Ophelia, we- _whoa-!”_

He wasn't able to get another word out as he, Frederick, and Zacharias were all pushed out of the tree home.

“Ophelia, _please-”_

“Take it easy, Ophelia-!”

“We need to discuss _highly important_ scientific and magical-”

_“Honestly,_ you three shouldn't be bothering him, right now!” she cried above their protests. “It is _ten o' clock at night,_ and he needs his rest!”

  
  


While the hapless trio were shepherded back to Subcon Village, the Snatcher's fanged mouth shifted into a slightly amused, slightly fearful smile. Silently, he let out a nervous chuckle as he pulled his blanket back over himself and awaited the scolding Ophelia was _certain_ to give him about staying awake at such a late hour.

The next morning, the Snatcher woke up feeling _much_ better than the previous night. Not only did he feel so much better, but he quickly realized that _he was able to sense souls, again!_ Relief _flooded_ his entire being as he quickly sensed where all of the villagers were, and the spiders, and-

  
  


**What in the _world_ was that!?**

  
  


Startled by his sudden awareness of an unfamiliar mass of... _something_ in his forest, he bolted from his tree home and towards the direction he felt it was in. A quick flight led the inky ghost to the transformed swamp. In mere seconds, the spectral ruler stared in open-mouthed shock.

  
  


What he sensed was _in the swamp,_ but _what was it_ that he was sensing!?

It was like a _bunch of souls,_ but instead of being _separate,_ they were all together in some kind of unusual mass!

  
  


He had almost been ready to try and pull one up, but his mad dash over to the swamp suddenly made his vision swim.

  
  


_Okay, he wouldn't be able to do anything about that mass, right now._

  
  


Disturbed by his discovery, the Snatcher shook his head to clear it and floated back to his tree-home. As he settled himself into his plush chair, the phantom closed his eyes and thought about what he was sensing.

  
  


There were _souls_ in the swamp, obviously, but _where had they come from?_

… Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember sensing any of the battaile leaving the forest, about a month prior; he had been too busy with fighting _Vanessa,_ at the time. They could have drowned in the swamp. It would explain why all of the bridges in the swamp are ruined; they wouldn't be able to support the weight of an _entire battaile!_

_But how could a battaile cause the swamp to change **so quickly?**_

  
  


The maned ghost was pulled out of his thoughts as he sensed Ophelia floating towards his home. Not wanting to be scolded _again,_ the specter frantically pulled the toppled-over blanket back onto himself before she could enter.

* * *

After three weeks of forced rest- which he wasn't complaining about; it was rather nice to just relax after months of dealing with Shady's nonsense- he felt well enough to float around without tiring himself out. Much to his relief, he was able to convince Ophelia to let him move around- after a good _ten minutes_ of persuasion.

Being able to float around again felt _fantastic!_ He had to constantly remind himself _not_ to flip or do any sort of trick while he was gliding through the forest.

  
  


Weeks of not being able to move around did that to a person, he supposed.

  
  


All excitement aside, now that he was able to fly around, he quickly learned of what the villagers had been doing, while he was resting.

Apparently, the villagers had been checking on the manor during their patrols, to ensure the pile of snow was still holding out- which it was, to his relief.

Diana had also taken the time out of their days to train the ghostly villagers to fight. Which- needless to say- surprised the Snatcher _immensely._

“You're still recovering,” Diana told him while he sat in on one of the training sessions, “so we need all of the hands we can get able to fight at a moment's notice. Plus, it'd be good for them to know how to fight; they may need to, in case there's another attack.”

He hummed at that and nodded, clasping his hands in his lap as he watched Maurice struggled with the ball-and-chain flail they held.

  
  


The ghostly blacksmith had forged proper weapons for the rest of the villagers; ones that were rather fitting for each ghost, he quickly noticed.

Maurice was wielding a ball-and-chain flail- and having quite a bit of trouble doing so.

Ophelia was sporting a nice rapier- though she appeared to lack confidence in wielding it.

Raymond had a longbow. Selene actually helped Diana with carving the wood for it and the arrows, but Diana shaped the arrowheads, strung the bow, and added some shadowy black feathers that the crows would lose from molting.

Frederick was using a lockbow- a rather fitting weapon for the scientist, all things considering.

Joseph was sporting a nice karabela, though he certainly looked nervous about holding it.

William- proud as he was- was wielding a war scythe, and _grinning_ while doing so.

Selene, meanwhile, had a war hammer- rather fitting, considering she was a carpenter.

Diana had mentioned that they still couldn't find a good weapon that fit Aureola. Fortunately, the milliner's hat pins seemed to be the right fit for them, and they had already figured out which pins were the best to wield, so the smithy decided not to bother with a weapon for the hat-maker.

  
  


All of a sudden, the maned ghost frowned as he realized _someone was missing from the training group._

  
  


**“Where's Aureola?”** he asked the smithy.

“They- Joseph, don't be so much force into one swing!” Diana abruptly cut themselves off as Joseph struggled to cut into a training dummy.

“O-Oh, sorry!” Joseph called back, his knitted brow and nervous frown showing the clockmaker's uncertainty and inexperience with the blade he held.

The blacksmith shook their head as they turned their gaze to the specter.

“Aureola's hatpins are very... _unconventional_ weapons,” they resumed explaining, one of their hands wrapped around the hilt of their own blade while they gestured with the other. “But I see potential in the pins, especially with how fast the hat-maker is. Their style of fighting isn't suited for regular lessons, however, so I'm holding private lessons with them.”

The Snatcher arched a figurative eyebrow. “Really?” he replied, **“Well, I'd certainly like to see how they would fight with hatpins. I'm admittedly curious as to how that would work!”**

An apologetic look was in Diana's eyes as they pat the phantom's back. “This is just between you and me, but their unique fighting style isn't the _only_ reason why I'm giving them private lessons,” the smithy disclosed.

  
  


The Snatcher's figurative eyebrow arched even higher as he stared inquisitively at the blacksmith.

  
  


“Aureola was nervous about learning how to fight in front of the others,” Diana revealed, “so they asked me if we could do private lessons.”

 **“Ahh...”** Snatcher immediately smiled and nodded. **“I understand.”**

  
  


The grandparent-like ghost gave the specter another pat, before they turned their attention back to the other villagers. “Maurice, you're lucky we're dead, otherwise that thing would've _crushed you flat!”_ Diana suddenly yelled.

This immediately caught the Snatcher's attention. As he turned his head forward, he soon noticed Maurice flat on the ground underneath a heavy training dummy.

“I say, these blasted things are... simply _too heavy...!”_ the lapidarist grunted.

He held back a small laugh that threatened to escape as Diana and William helped lift the dummy off of the jeweler.

  
  


Ah, Maurice... they'll get the hang of it, eventually...

* * *

It had been about a month since he regained consciousness.

  
  


His energy was coming back to him gradually; he just needed to be patient. Which was admittedly difficult, considering he was the ruler of Subcon Forest. He was supposed to protect the forest, and not being able to do that at least was getting on his nerves!

At the very least, he was now able to sense magic again, which was useful in helping the villagers avoid those pesky statues.

  
  


He _really_ needed to figure out what to do about those horrid things.

  
  


All grievances about the stone angels aside, he was feeling more awake and alert than ever. Of course, he wasn't able to do everything he wanted to do, now that his mind was clear.

  
  


One afternoon, he floated into Subcon Village, his glowing visage sporting a fanged smile that grew as he sensed the excited screams of the children.

  
  


_SNATCHER!_

  
  


The maned ghost laughed as the masked spirits bombarded him, wrapping themselves around his arms, neck, and tail.

 **“Hey, kids!”** the ghost chortled, somehow managing to stay afloat in the air. **“I take it you all finished your homework?”**

  
  


_Yes!_

  
  


Their joyful cries seemed to ring in his senses.

**“Magnificent!”** he replied. **“I'm glad to hear- _whoa-!”_**

He yelped as Denise and Anthony grabbed his hands and pulled him over to a stump.

  
  


_Let's fight!_

  
  


That was Denise.

Amusement filled the specter; he couldn't hide the grin on his face. **“Well, I don't see why not! Hop off, kids; let me change into a more suitable form.”**

The mob of children immediately obeyed him, darting off to take seats on top of the tree-stump homes.

Now more gleeful than ever, the Snatcher quickly made sure the coast was clear of any possible statues- or anyone else he didn't want knowing who he was- before he shape-shifted.

Everything spun around him as his legs _buckled_ underneath him immediately. His thoughts became hazy as he fell onto his hands and knees.

He felt the children's voices around him as they rushed over to the specter, crying in alarm.

  
  


_Snatcher!?_

_Are you okay!?_

_You're all inky, but you're human!_

_Wh-What happened!?_

  
  


He tried to say, **“I'm fine, kids,”** but all that came out was a dazed groan. He shook his head slightly to clear his head, but trying to stay in his current form was making it difficult.

  
  


Finally, he ceased his attempts to pull himself together and let his human-shaped body change back into his ghostly form. The action released his mind from its foggy state and made the world spin less and less.

He blinked a couple of times.

**“Ugh... maybe I shouldn't have done that...”** he mumbled, raising a clawed hand to his head.

  
  


“Snatcher!”

  
  


Ophelia's shriek pierced the air as she rushed over to him, lifting the specter up onto a tree stump before he could so much as say a word.

“Are you all right?” the baker cried, her ghostly brow knitted with concern as she looked him over.

The wide-eyed fear on her face snapped Snatcher partially out of his daze. **“Y... Yes, I'm fine,”** he finally said, screwing his eyes shut to get his vision to stop swimming.

“What happened?” was the next question out of her mouth.

 **“I just... tried to shape-shift, is all,”** he murmured, his glowing face scrunching up as he shook his head slightly.

  
  


_We wanted to sword-fight with him._

  
  


Anthony's voice echoed through the maned ghost's senses, worried and upset in tone.

After a few more blinks, the specter's vision cleared up quickly. He soon saw Ophelia whirl around to the children, a hand on her hip as she pointed a finger at them.

“Children,” she said in a stern- but surprisingly calm- tone, “Snatcher can't do anything that requires his powers, yet-”

**“Ophelia, it was my fault,”** the Snatcher quickly cut in, holding a hand to his chest. **“I should have been more careful... they didn't know I couldn't use my powers, yet.”**

Ophelia whirled around to face him. _Both_ of her hands were on her hips, now.

  
  


_**Oh, boy...** _

  
  


He braced himself for the baker's motherly ire.

“Snatcher, you _need_ to be more careful,” she scolded him. “You can't push yourself so much; you only just started feeling well enough to fly around-”

  
  


Ophelia's scolding _immediately_ ceased as Denise **burst into tears.**

  
  


_I-I didn't mean to- mean to hurt him, I-I'm sorry...!_

  
  


He felt a _pang_ of **guilt** in his chest.

**“Denise, you didn't hurt me,”** the phantom tried to soothe them. **“I just got a bit dizzy, that's all. It was my fault...”**

Ophelia's amber eyes softened as she glided over to Denise and gently lifted up the sobbing child. Cradling the serpentine spirit in her arms, the baker gently rubbed their back as she shushed them.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Denise,” she swiftly apologized, guilt mixing with worry as she frowned and knitted her brow. “It's okay, he's not hurt...”

Denise shuddered as they silently hiccuped.

“There we go; no more tears, sweetie.” Ophelia smiled as she carefully wiped the tears from the child's mask-eyes.

As he watched Denise gradually calm down, the Snatcher couldn't help but smile slightly.

  
  


Ophelia was motherly by nature. She _definitely_ would scold you like one, but she also cared for you like one, too. In fact, even when he was a young boy, Ophelia was like the motherly aunt of the village; she _always_ helped take care of the children.

_He had always wondered why that was..._

  
  


Pushing those thoughts aside, the Snatcher focused his attention on the current situation.

 **“We can do something else fun today, Denise,”** he told the tiny spirit.

Denise looked up at him as Ophelia carefully released them from the hug.

  
  


Their worry had vanished, replaced by curiosity as the little one gazed up at the specter.

  
  


_L-Like what...?_

  
  


… That was a good question. What _could_ they do?

  
  


All of a sudden, Ophelia clapped her hands together as a cheery smile returned to her face. The Snatcher, Denise, and all of the children turned their heads to stare at the baker as her spectral face lit up like a firefly.

“I know! How would everyone like to help me bake?” she kindly suggested.

The children immediately perked up. Excitement _radiated_ from their tiny beings at the prospect of helping the baker make delicious sweets. Each child rapidly fired off ideas for pastries they could make, not wasting any time with letting their imaginations run wild.

  
  


_Can we make a pie?_

_What about muffins?_

_Can we bake a cake? Please?_

_Cupcakes!_

_Strudel!_

  
  


The motherly baker clapped her hands together to get the children's attention. “Calm down, children!” she exclaimed, “We'll figure out what to make when we get to the kitchen!”

Chuckling, the inky ghost arched a nonexistent brow and smiled. **“Would you mind if I joined in?”** he inquired.

  
  


For a moment, he _fully expected_ Ophelia to tut and wag a finger at him, telling him not to strain himself and get some rest!

Which is why he was surprised when the baker crossed her arms and smiled at him.

  
  


“If you feel well enough to move around, I'll consider letting you join in,” she stated.

**“Well, that's reasonable enough,”** the Snatcher replied, pushing himself up off of the stump. He hovered there for a moment, with the eyes of Ophelia and the children all upon him.

  
  


A brief second passed where he was afraid he'd get dizzy, again.

Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened.

  
  


A wide grin spread across his face as he beamed proudly at the baker. **“Let's get started, shall we?”**

* * *

“- and then we add the water- Chris, put that vegetable oil down! I _know_ what you're planning, and I _won't_ allow it.”

  
  


Ophelia's bakery was filled with Subcon's children, each one eager to help the baker make delicious sweets. The children helped with gathering ingredients- or in Chris' case, huff and put the vegetable oil they were planning on spilling over Julia's head down- as Ophelia taught them all how to make sweet cherry pie. Denise immediately cheered up when the motherly baker assigned them a special task: making the crust. They feverishly mixed everything in the bowl, and made a mess of the counter in the process.

The Snatcher shook with quiet laughter as he helped Alexis make the cherry filling, amused to no end by the antics of the children.

 **“They certainly are energetic today, aren't they?”** he remarked to Ophelia, his glowing smile plain on his face.

Ophelia giggled, holding a hand up over her mouth as she nodded. “Well, what kid _wouldn't_ enjoy making a bit of a mess in the kitchen?” the baker replied, keeping a close eye on the children's progress.

Sighing contently, the specter gently pat Alexis' head, prompting the fox-masked child to glance up at him. **“Keep at it, kiddo,”** he encouraged her, **“you're doing great!”**

Pure joy emanated from the young child as they silently giggled and resumed making the filling with great vigor.

The slowly phantom drifted over to Ophelia, a smile stretched wide across his face. **“This reminds me of the time I helped you bake a cherry pie for the festival- in fact, I think _all_ of the children helped out that time, as well!”**

“Oh, they did!” Ophelia recalled, her hands clasped in front of her apron as she reminisced. “Although Anne got a _little_ carried away and tried mashing the cherries with her hands.”

The Snatcher _wheezed._ **“I remember that!”** he quietly chortled, **“She clasped her hands together, raised them over her head, and yelled like a warrior as she _slammed_ her fists down onto the cherries-!”**

“- and they splattered over _everything,_ and _everyone!”_ the baker added, shaking from laughter.

The two adults laughed, tears forming in the maned ghost's eyes as the baker held a hand over her mouth to subdue her uncontrollable giggling. After a good minute of joyous guffaw, the inky phantom wiped the tears from his eyes with a talon and sighed.

**“Ah... you certainly weren't as amused, back then,”** the Snatcher commented, **“in fact, you scolded Anne and had her sit in the corner while you cleaned up the mess. But you were always patient with her; you let her try again, and she did it without making a mess. _Mostly.”_**

“Well, she was young, and energetic,” the baker explained, “sure, she got into trouble, but she just needed a bit of guidance.”

Crossing his arms, the specter turned his head towards Ophelia. **“You were always good at that; guiding the kids. In fact, you were kind of like a second mother to all of the children in the village. You _still_ are, in fact; you do a fantastic job!”**

His praise made the baker wave dismissively. “Oh, I just can't help it,” she modestly said, “I enjoy helping take care of the children.”

His expression gained a hint of nervousness. A small smile with anxiously-furrowed figurative eyebrows were on the specter's face- a similar expression to that of a child nervously asking about something they thought might be a sore subject for someone else.

**“You know, I always wondered why you helped take care of us,”** he admitted, turning his head back towards the children. “ **I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm _happy_ that you enjoy helping raise the kids! It's just...”**

He shrugged slightly. **“I always wondered _why...”_**

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ophelia's smile fade. He frowned, glancing back over at the baker as concern etched its way onto his face. **“Are you all right, Ophelia?”**

Ophelia netted her fingers as her gaze fell to the floor.

“I always wanted children,” she revealed, her voice hushed as her amber eyes shifted to half-lidded. “So did Percy; we wanted nothing more than a child of our own. But I... couldn't have a child...”

Almost immediately, the Snatcher's eyes grew _gigantic._

The baker let out a shuddering sigh as she gazed up at the ceiling. Her eyes grew misty as she bit her lip. “We wanted to adopt, but all of the children- and it's a _good_ thing, mind you!- already had loving families to take care of them. Then Percy died, and...”

She trailed off, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  
  


He could relate to Ophelia; he had always wanted a child of his own. To think that Ophelia had wanted her own child, but _couldn't,_ and she had to deal with that knowledge for _all of this time...!_

  
  


Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. **“Ophelia, I... I had no idea,”** he whispered, guilt settling itself in his chest. **“I'm so sorry.”**

Ophelia shook her head and glanced back up at the specter, a faint smile on her face. “It's okay, sweetie,” she reassuringly told him, “at the very least, I was able to help raise all of you-” She gestured to the Snatcher and the children making pies. “- and them. _Every single one of you_ have brought me _so much joy,_ over the years...”

Wistfully, she smiled at the little ones hard at work. “I'm not a mother,“ she sadly said, “and I could _never_ replace their mothers, _or_ their parents. But... I can still be the motherly aunt-”

She paused, giggling slightly as she turned to the maned ghost. “Well, _great-aunt,_ considering they're _your_ children.”

Her eyes twinkled as the Snatcher froze and frantically gestured with his arms, stuttering in surprise at the baker's comment. **“Wh-What- No, I'm- I'm not the best- I couldn't- I'm just the ruler of the forest, not their-”**

“Sweetie,” Ophelia interrupted, grabbing his hands to stop him from wildly flailing his arms, “you can argue all you want, but the fact is, you're like a _father_ to them.”

The Snatcher blinked, before finally settling down. **“... Do they really see me that way...?”** he muttered.

Ophelia gently pat his hands with one of her own, before she released them. “They do.”

… His gaze moved to the children as his figurative brow furrowed.

**“I... I don't feel right, taking that title from their _own_ fathers, their parents...”**

He trailed off, his mane flying here and there as he slowly shook his head. **“They lost them only a few years ago; I wouldn't feel right if I considered myself like a father to them, so soon. They're not ready for that- _I'm_ not ready for that.”**

“But when they _are_ ready,” the baker said, a kind amber smile on her face, “will _you_ be ready?”

  
  


**“...”**

  
  


_Would he be ready?_ He wasn't sure. After all, when would _they_ be ready to call someone else “Father”?

**…**

But sensing their joy, imagining the smiles that would _undoubtedly_ be on their faces, each one of them so unique...

_He'd love **nothing more** than to adopt these kids, when the right time came._

  
  


**“Eventually, I will be,”** the specter truthfully answered, **“after all, they're _my kids,_ aren't they?”**

The two adults smiled at each other, before directing their gazes to the children-

  
  


_AAAAAAAAAAAH!_

  
  


_**SPLAT!** _

  
  


The next thing they knew, the adults were _splattered_ with cherry filling.

The Snatcher wiped his face clean, while Ophelia blinked in surprise.

Francisca was _smashing_ their curled-up tail into the cherries in a manner similar to slamming the side of a fist onto a table. The child noiselessly roared a **mighty** warrior cry as the unfinished filling _showered_ the silently screaming children around her, and the kitchen walls, _and_ the floor.

Alexis floated a few feet away, covered _head-to-tail_ in the cherry filling. The small spirit trembled as her mask's eyes filled with tears.

Slowly, the two adults crossed their arms.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd says Francisca's name was _Anne, Jr.”_ Ophelia calmly remarked, her seriousness hinted by her unamused tone.

 **“I don't know about you, but I am getting some _serious_ déjà vu,”** the Snatcher stated.

Both of the adults stared down the culprit behind the messy kitchen.

_“Francisca.”_ The baker's stern tone hinted at the scolding that would soon come.

Francisca whirled around, realizing _immediately_ what the tone of voice meant.

As the specter moved to Alexis to soothe the child and help clean the cherry filling off of her, he couldn't help but smile a bit, knowing _exactly_ how this situation would play out.

Francisca was sent to the corner- after helping clean up the mess she made- while the Snatcher helped Ophelia clean off the other children. Once Francisca's punishment was over, the baker explained why what the child did was wrong, and had her apologize for ruining Alexis' hard work, before having the two children work together to make some new filling. As it turned out, Francisca ended up making a _much_ bigger mess trying to _properly_ make the filling than even _Anne_ had made, so many years ago. Nonetheless, the two children eventually finished the filling, their unseen, proud smiles clearly sensed by the specter.

In no time at all, all of the children, Ophelia, and the Snatcher were enjoying a delicious sweet cherry pie.

  
  


It was the _best_ sweet cherry pie he **ever** ate, in both his life **_and_** his afterlife.


	25. The Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A true celebration to be remembered.

Two days had passed since the cherry filling incident.

  
  


Subcon Forest was peaceful. The spiders spun their webs along tree branches, waiting for bugs to ensnare themselves on the silky threads, while the shadowy crows of the forest roosted on the bare branches of the trees. The bats hung from branches, their red eyes piercing through the darkness of the eternal night, while the weird worms crawled around and dug into the earth. The various angel statues stood stock-still, some of them merely waiting to catch some unfortunate soul unaware.

  
  


The gentle silence was broken by the sound of stone being chiseled.

  
  


Deep in the forest, Gwendolyn was hard at work, carving out a cenotaph from a boulder. The Snatcher was helping her, taking his time with shaping the massive monument-

Well, compared to the specter, the monument seemed like the size of any regular gravestone. But that was beside the point.

The whole point with the cenotaph was as a sort of grave for all of the kingdom of Subcon- the ghosts included- who had died due to _Vanessa._ It was the best option for a memorial; the forest's ruler had a desire to search for the bodies of the kingdom's former inhabitants, but a few very good reasons kept him from doing so.

  
  


Firstly, he was still regaining his strength from his last battle with the _horrid witch_ , which meant he wouldn't be able to summon up as much fire to melt the ice and snow around the former village just across the bridge.

Secondly, he wasn't sure he could handle the sight of the people he knew and loved all _dead._ Not only that, but putting the ghostly villagers through the pain of seeing the corpses of their loved ones- even for a proper burial- would, without a doubt, distress them greatly. And that was just the corpses of their loved ones; imagine how they'd react if they saw _their own bodies!_

  
  


_Especially the children-_

  
  


His nonexistent stomach churned at the thought.

  
  


He'd _break down_ if he saw **the remains of the children.**

_He didn't want to think about how the ghostly children would react to seeing **their own bodies.**_

  
  


His third reasons for not wanting to search for the bodies of the villagers was because the ice-covered homes and snow- as much as he **despised** admitting it- made great barriers that would force the _ice witch_ to take the only path available, if she tried to get across the bridge, again.

  
  


With no other options available, a simple cenotaph would have to do. The former kingdom needed something to honor the deceased by, and at the very least, the ghostly inhabitants of the forest could move on from the past with a memorial.

  
  


They all needed it.

  
  


_It was time to heal._

  
  


As the two spirits shaped the massive stone, the taller ghost couldn't help but smile as they neared completion with the cenotaph. **“I think this is coming along well!”** he exclaimed.

Gwendolyn nodded, wiping her spectral brow with her arm. “We still need to finish the top,” she pointed out, “and the inscription.”

**“Well... yes,** ” he replied, stroking his mane slightly, **“but you have to admit, we're doing a great job, so far!”**

A hint of a smile made its way onto the mason's face as she resumed carving. “We are.”

The phantom of the forest gave her a fanged grin as he worked on shaping the top of the monument.

 **“Say, Gwendolyn,”** the specter suddenly said, his smile fading slightly as his figurative brow furrowed. **“I was wondering if you would mind helping me with a little project.”**

“What kind of project?” the mason asked, chiseling through stone with precision and care.

**“Well... seeing as how the swamp is rather dangerous, the children will need somewhere else to take shelter at,”** he explained while working. **“I was wondering if you'd help me construct some additional towers, just for that purpose.”**

She slowly stopped carving, holding a hand up to her chin. After a good few seconds of contemplation, she nodded at the specter. “We will have limited amounts of stone available for use, but if we're careful, we should be able to make decent hiding places for the children,” the mason informed him.

**“Excellent!”** He clasped his hands together as a smile spread across his face. **“We'll have those towers built in no time!”**

“Easy, Snatcher.” Gwendolyn held up her hand to stop him. “We will get to that once we finish the cenotaph.”

The Snatcher chuckled slightly. **“Of course,”** he replied, aiming his chisel to a jagged part of the stone.

Gwendolyn stared at him with that stoic face of hers, before floating over and grabbing his hands.

“That's the wrong angle,” she told him, adjusting his chisel slightly.

A sheepish smile appeared on his inky face as he realized the simple mistake he had _almost_ made. **“O-Oh, of course! Right.”**

Gwendolyn glanced out of the corner of her eye at him, watching the specter work on the very top of the monument.

The specter's face contorted into an expression of intense concentration, and he would have _definitely_ stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, if he had one.

She _frowned_ at that.

“Is something bothering you?” the mason asked.

The Snatcher turned to her, his focused expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. **“What do you mean?”**

Gwendolyn gave him a stoic, serious stare. Her gaze practically _pierced through him._

“I taught you everything you know about stone carving; you know better than to make a mistake like that,” she answered.

He lowered his chisel, sighing as he realized what she meant. The phantom had been preoccupied with a few concerns for a while, now, but he did his best to hide the fact that he was worried.

But he couldn't hide that from Gwendolyn; not when she gave him _that_ stare.

**“It's been over a month now,”** he began, turning his attention to the stone mason, **“and we haven't seen so much as a single soldier or sorcerer sent by Shady. The worst part is, I don't have enough energy to just _teleport_ to the desert and see what's going on, what he's planning, or to so much as _talk_ to him!”**

A growl escaped him as he lowered his head and furrowed his nonexistent brow. **"It is absolutely _frustrating_ to think about! I don't know if he's planning another attack, or-"**

She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his sudden rant. “No one knows what he's up to; do not stress yourself out over this,” was her advice.

The shadowy ghost glanced away, worry knitted into his figurative brow. **“But-”**

“Do _not_ stress yourself out over this,” Gwendolyn repeated herself, cutting the Snatcher off before he could get another word in. “We will figure this out once you are in full health...”

She paused, frowning a bit more. “Well... what can be considered full health, in our states,” she added.

After staring at the stone mason for a brief moment, he finally gave in and nodded, his irritation soon fading away. **“Thanks, Gwendolyn,”** he muttered, patting her on the shoulder. **“I can always count on you to set me straight.”**

Her stoic expression broke slightly as another hint of a smile formed on her face.

The Snatcher returned the smile with a fanged one of his own, before he turned back to resume carving out the cenotaph. **“You know, it's hard to believe you were once such a mean kid!”** the now-cheerful ghost teased.

Gwendolyn's smile faded as she slowly held her forehead. “I'm still ashamed of those days,” she admitted, her lips thin as her stoic, narrowed eyes gained a hint of embarrassment. “I was... a nuisance.”

He arched an eyebrow, giving her another pat on the shoulder. **“You were,”** he agreed, **“but it shows how much you changed. Look at you, now; an upstanding citizen, _and_ a good role model for the children!”**

… That hint of a smile crept back onto her face as she glanced over at him. “Thanks,” she replied, before turning back to the monument and resuming her carving.

The phantom's smile grew as he followed her lead.

  
  


A glint of mischievousness appeared in the stone mason's eyes.

  
  


“You were always a goody two-shoes, yourself.”

**“Wha- _hey!”_**

* * *

Construction on the new towers began immediately. The Snatcher, Gwendolyn, and even the other adults worked together to cut stone bricks for new towers, then placing the bricks properly on top of one another. In just a few weeks, they had a few new towers constructed near the gated community.

It wasn't the first place the inky ghost would have chosen, but everyone agreed that it felt _wrong_ to try and demolish some of the more spindly towers near Joseph's wall-less house. Using the bigger tower was also out of the question; after the incident with that spider, so many years ago, no one wanted to risk using the tower for the children to hide in.

The cenotaph- though it was completed- remained without an inscription; mostly because the specter didn't know what he wanted the inscription to be.

He'd figure that out, later.

Before the Snatcher knew it, _two months_ had passed since he first woke up from his week-long coma.

  
  


Everything was going well for the forest's ghosts, and he felt better _than ever!_

… Well, he wasn't _100%_ back to full energy, but he was making progress.

  
  


The Snatcher's glowing grin stretched to his nonexistent ears as he floated through Subcon Village. The villagers were happily chatting to one another, the children were playing nearby, the lovely smell of Ophelia's baked goods wafted through the air, and all was well-

  
_SNATCHER!_

  
  


The specter let out a booming laugh as the children cried with joy. The little ones wasted no time as they flung themselves at him and wrapped themselves around his arms and neck, eagerly pleading for the specter to join in their games.

  
  


Everything was _wonderful..._

  
  


_Someone was in the forest._

  
  


His cheerfully-closed eyes _snapped open_ in alarm as he whipped his head towards the direction of the forest's entrance.

**“Children, gather up now,”** he calmly- but urgently- instructed.

The children instantly obeyed, the urgency in the specter's voice prompting them to release him and congregate in front of him.

The other adults quickly took notice of their ruler's alert state and rushed over to his side.

“How many?” Diana quietly asked him.

**“One,”** was his response, **“I'm going to scout ahead and see what's going on.”**

“I'll come with you,” the smithy stated. They quickly turned to the other ghosts. “The rest of you get the children to the towers.” 

The other adults hurriedly shepherded the masked spirits to the stone towers while the Snatcher and Diana flew towards the forest's entrance.

As the two ghosts grew closer to the forest's entrance, the phantom's mind became a jumbled mess of panicked thoughts that zipped around in his head.

  
  


What was he going to do? If this was one of Shady's scouts, or another sorcerer, it would mean that Shady _might_ be planning to initiate another attack.

_There could be another battle._

He was in **no condition** to teleport more sorcerers or soldiers around!

  
  


If he still had a heart, he knew it would be **pounding** in his chest.

  
  


_How would he protect his people from Shady's forces?_

**His family?**

_**The children!?** _

  
  


Once they had neared the soul in question, the two hid behind nearby trees and silently waited, their weapons close in hand. They peered out from behind the trees, their eyes focused on the path.

Footsteps echoed through the trees, growing louder the closer they got to the two ghosts.

He unsheathed his sword, his yellow eyes narrowing as he stared at the path ahead. His clawed fingers tightly gripped the hilt of his blade as he prepared himself for a fight.

A figure came into view.

  
  


_They were human. Orange hair, green eyes, a messenger bag-_

  
  


The Snatcher nearly _dropped his blade on the spot._

  
  


It _couldn't_ be...

  
  


The phantom sheathed his blade and snapped it away, floating out from behind the tree with a wide-eyed, bewildered expression. Diana followed him, their own surprise quickly melting away as they smiled at the stranger.

The moment the human spotted the two ghosts, a big smile spread across their face as they pat their messenger bag.

  
“My apologies for making you wait, Your Highness,” the messenger apologized, their eyes twinkling as they bowed to the forest's ruler. “A rather _unexpected_ delay kept me from delivering any correspondence to you.”

* * *

The moment the Snatcher gave the all-clear and told the villagers what was going on, Subcon Village was filled with cheering ghosts, their joyful yells and cries reverberating through the forest.

The specter had a wide, fanged smile on his own face as he clasped his hands together.

He still couldn't believe it.

_Clarence had somehow made it to Subcon Forest!_

There where so many questions whizzing through his mind, but he had pushed them aside and welcomed the courier back with open arms before he led the messenger to the village with Diana.

Now, though, while Ophelia was busy whipping up some food and drinks for the messenger, and while Aureola and Joseph watched over the children, the forest's phantom could barely hold in every single question he wanted to ask as he sat sat down on a nearby stump. Clarence barely had any time to perch themselves on the stump next to it before the specter began asking questions.

**“Pardon my rudeness, but I _have_ to ask, how did you make it all the way here?”** the specter inquired the moment Clarence had taken a seat. **“I thought the Cabinet Minister's soldiers were supposed to escort you between the desert and your country, only!”**

“Well, it was a _lot_ easier than I expected it to be,” Clarence mentioned. They set their bag down next to their stump before continuing. “There were no guards at the checkpoints!”

 **“No guards?”** His glowing features shifted into a narrow-eyed, frowning expression of deep thought. **“But how can that be...?”**

“I don't know,” the messenger replied with a shrug, “but I didn't question it at the time. I ran _as fast as I could_ to get to Subcon Forest, the moment I realized no one else was around.”

The specter shook his head slightly, his fanged mouth shifting back to a grin as he pat Clarence's shoulder. **“I just can't believe you got through safely!"** he exclaimed. **"I'd say that calls for a celebration!”**

Now sheepish, the courier rubbed the back of their head, messing up their short hair. “I wouldn't say that's necessary,” they chuckled. “What kind of courier would I be if I _didn't_ attempt to carry out my duty, even at personal risk?”

**“That's all the more reason to celebrate,”** the Snatcher cheerfully argued, lifting a hand palm-up to motion to the messenger with. **“You showed much courage in risking coming here. The least that I can do, as ruler of Subcon Forest-”**

He placed his hand against his chest. **“- is thank you for your brave endeavor with a feast, and offer you a place to stay for the next few days.”**

Clarence's brow rose in surprise, their jaw dropping in surprise. _“A few days?”_ the flabbergasted courier asked.

The phantom nodded resolutely. **“I _insist_ that you stay for at least a few days. It will take a while to gather up the proper supplies for the trip back to your country, and I doubt you _wouldn't_ want to rest, after traveling _so far_ to get here.”**

That was enough to make the messenger consider the offer. They rubbed their chin and closed their eyes, humming slightly to themselves as they mulled over what to say.

The Snatcher clasped his hands together, once more, his fanged smile gaining a hint of nervousness.

Secretly, he hoped Clarence would agree to say; the inky ghost's mind had hatched a _wonderful_ idea to properly thank the courier for all of their help, and- despite the ray of hope that the apparently-empty checkpoints brought to him- he had no idea if he would _ever_ get the opportunity to see the messenger, again.

Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about Clarence refusing his offer.

“Well, I guess I _can't_ refuse an offer from Subcon's ruler, can I?” A jesting tone mingled with their words as they gave the specter a slight, amused grin.

Immediately, the Snatcher gave the courier a wide smile. **“I'll have William prepare a bed for you,”** he said, before floating up into the air. **“Now, if you'll excuse me, there is an important matter that I must attend to.”**

The messenger folded their hands in their lap as the ghostly ruler floated away. The moment he was certain he was out of sight, the maned ghost rushed over to Diana and Horace- who were casually chatting, nearby- and wrung his hands.

**“Excuse me, Horace, Diana,”** he began, **“would you two mind helping me with something?”**

The smithy raised a ghostly brow, while Horace rubbed his hands together. “Why, of course!” the tailor replied, their smile growing massive. “What do you need?”

**“Well...”** The taller ghost leaned down and lowered his voice. **“I was wondering if you two would mind helping me with making... _the badge.”_**

Both of the villagers _immediately_ knew what the Snatcher meant.

Before Horace could delightedly agree, Diana grabbed the tailor's shoulder and shook their head.

“I'm sorry, but there's not enough of the right metals to forge Subcon's highest honor,” the blacksmith regretfully informed the phantom.

The shadowy ghost frowned deeply, a clawed hand rising to hold his figurative chin. **“Well, there must be _something_ we can do!”** he muttered. **“At least, perhaps we could make them new clothes-”**

“Now, that's something _I_ could do!” Horace cut in.

 **“- but we need _something_ to award them with, aside from just clothes,”** the Snatcher finished saying.

The three ghosts glanced around, Horace rubbing the back of his head, the Snatcher closing his yellow eyes as he thought, and Diana propping their chin up on their fist as they scanned the area for any kind of idea. The smithy's eyes fell upon some of the children that were playing nearby.

  
  


They stared at the little, masked, serpentine spirits for a few seconds...

  
  


Diana's spectral eyes lit up as they suddenly got an idea. “What about a mask?” they suggested to the Snatcher.

It took him a second to register what the blacksmith said, but when he did, the Snatcher's glowing mouth grew _massive_ as his yellow eyes _gleamed_ with joy.

**“Of course, a _mask!_ What a wonderful idea, Diana!”** the phantom praised, his palms pressed together in delight. **“I must speak with Selene and Clarissa; meet me at my tree in five minutes!”**

And just as suddenly as he had flown over, the Snatcher darted off towards Selene's workshop.

Diana and Horace glanced at one another, the blacksmith crossing their arms while Horace smiled brightly.

“You know, Diana, if you have even a _bit_ of metal left, perhaps you could help me with an idea I had in mind for a suitable set of traveling clothes.”

The blacksmith chuckled as they returned the tailor's smile. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

Five minutes later, Horace, Diana, Selene, Clarissa, and- much to the Snatcher's surprise- Anne and Zacharias were outside of the massive, mushroom-covered tree.

Apparently, the cobbler and miller overhead Horace and Diana planning how to go about with making clothes for the royal courier, and wanted to help out. Naturally, Anne wanted to make some good boots for Clarence, while Zacharias...

  
  


Actually, the specter didn't know _what_ Zacharias wanted to do, but he'd let them listen in, for now.

  
  


They had all discussed what the Snatcher wanted to do, and Selene and Clarissa both beamed as they showed off the design they had in mind for the mask in question. Everyone else immediately praised the two for their ingenious design.

Which made Clarissa feel a bit more confident, the inky ghost quickly noticed. She _still_ hadn't told the village about her talents in painting, and he had a sneaking suspicion this was the occasion that they wanted to make their talents known.

After such an eager conversation, the focus then turned to the clothing that Horace and Diana would be working on.

Diana would use what little raw gold was left to forge a belt buckle, which was simple enough to do. Horace, however, was having much more trouble with his plans. There was a deep frown on his face as he scratched at his head and explained the problem he was having.

“I'm afraid I can only use lighter-colored fabrics,” the tailor revealed to them all, “since Clarence travels through the desert so much. But then there's the problem of when night falls; they won't be able to keep warm with lighter-colored clothing, but darker colors will make them overheat in the day!”

The Snatcher tapped a clawed finger against his fanged frown. **“We can't give them two sets of clothes, either,”** he quickly realized, **“that would be cumbersome to carry around, along with other supplies.”**

Zacharias- who had been silent this whole time- raised a finger into the air.

“I know how to solve this problem!” the miller proudly exclaimed.

  
  


All eyes were on Zacharias now as they pulled out Lewis' old tome and opened it up to a page.

  
  


“I've been doing a lot of reading- you know, for the whole 'keep _her_ in the manor' problem we're having,” the miller reminded the ghosts, “and I remember seeing some spells here that could help us out.”

“Spells?” Diana crossed their arms and raised a brow, confusion clear on their face.

Nodding to the smithy, Zacharias held the tome in one hand and gestured with the other as the miller spoke. “Yeah! There are spells in this old tome that involve things like enchanting stuff to make it feel warm or cold, or even _both_ depending on the circumstances! So if I just enchant the clothing so that it'll keep Clarence warm or cool depending on where they are, you can just use any colors you want!”

The Snatcher's frown quickly turned upside-down as his glowing eyes shone with delight. **“Zacharias, you _genius!”_** the phantom praised, happiness pervading from his shadowy being, **“We wouldn't have to hold back on color choices, with magic like that!”**

  
  


In seconds, the entire group was joining in with giving the miller praise.

  
  


“Nice job!” Anne cried, punching Zacharias' shoulder- and prompting a quiet “Ow!” from the miller.

“I never took you for the book type, but good going!” Clarissa exclaimed as she gave the miller a noogie.

Selene pat Zacharias' shoulder. “That's some smart thinking!” she told them with a smile on her face.

“Excellent idea!” Diana grinned slightly and pat the miller's back.

Horace took hold of Zacharias' empty hand and shook it. “Zacharias, you have saved me from _hours_ of fretting over colors!” the tailor extolled, “How can I ever repay you?”

Zacharias practically beamed at the attention, closing the tome and puffing out their spectral chest. “Aw, it was nothing!” the miller boasted. “All I did was _read.”_

The Snatcher clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention. **“Well, let's not waste any time!”** exclaimed the specter, joy practically emanating from his shadowy being. **“Not only do we have awards to make, but a ceremony to plan!”**

The next few days were spent with the Snatcher chatting with Clarence, updating the courier on what had happened in Subcon Forest, since the last time they had seen him; the last of the refuges being safely escorted to the mountains, the attempted kidnapping of the children, the constant attacks from the Cabinet Minister's forces, and what he had learned from the former prince of the desert about the usurper's origins-

"That is, without a doubt, the most _ridiculous_ name for a thief I have ever heard," Clarence had remarked upon learning the Cabinet Minister's code name was Shady Sunburnt.

\- and about the attack that Shady had launched upon Subcon Forest.

Naturally, Clarence was **horrified** to learn of what happened. But no matter how horrified they were, they wrote down _everything_ that the Snatcher had said- no doubt to report all of this back to their country.

  
  


He was grateful for how seriously Clarence took their job as courier; Subcon Forest would need _all_ of the help it could get with defeating Shady, _once and for all._

  
  


Aside from the matter of Shady, the specter also brought up how they were researching more permanent ways of keep _Vanessa_ locked in her manor. Upon hearing that, the messenger mentioned they would tell their king about this immediately, and hopefully send more books his way on magic and paranormal subjects to aid him.

  
  


Honestly, this messenger was making him feel more and more _resolute_ in giving the messenger the _proper_ awards for _all_ of their hard work.

  
  


Speaking of which, while the Snatcher was busy entertaining Clarence, Horace, Diana, Zacharias, Anne, Clarissa, and Selene were working long and hard on said awards. Diana was forging a belt buckle, Horace was busy with sewing together a remarkable outfit, Anne was excitedly putting together a nice pair of boots, and Zacharias was working with all three of them to put the proper heating and cooling enchantments on everything. Meanwhile, Selene spent her time elaborately carving out a wonderful mask, and when she was done, handed it to Clarissa, who immediately set about painstakingly painting the wooden surface of the mask with _exquisite_ detail.

While they were doing that, the phantom managed to excuse himself long enough to inform the other villagers of what he had planned. Everyone was immediately on board, all working together in secret to prepare a formal ceremony for the courier.

* * *

_After three days, everything was ready._

  
  


A banner was hung up, the words “Thank You, Clarence!” written upon it in wonderful, flowing calligraphy. Decorations were hung all around the tree-stump homes, each one colorful and bright to contrast the spooky air. Tables and chairs were set up, awaiting the feast that Ophelia had prepared just for the occasion, and a nearby stump was where the awards for the royal courier were placed. All of the ghostly inhabitants of the forest had gathered near the entrance of the village, the Snatcher looming tall in the very back. The phantom of the forest waited patiently- but eagerly- for Clarence to exit from the tree-stump home.

Which Clarence eventually did.

Upon seeing the whole ceremony before them, the courier gawked as they turned their head here and there to look at the colorful scene, their mouth slowly opening and closing a few times. They were _flabbergasted_ by what they were seeing, and by the time they reached the group of ghosts, their voice was quiet with surprise as they finally found their words.

“What _is_ all of this?” asked the courier.

The Snatcher beamed as he beckoned to them with a talon-like finger.

Clarence obeyed and went to the specter's side, gazing up at him with awe and confusion in their eyes.

  
  


**“Clarence Staffe,”** the inky ghost began, **“you have put your life on the line many times to deliver messages to Subcon Forest from other countries the world over. Not to mention, you took the first opportunity you saw to get to our forest, just to let us know that we still had allies in our time of need.”**

A kind, grateful, fanged smile graced the Snatcher's face as he placed a clawed hand on his chest. **“I can _never_ thank you enough for everything you have done for us, and risked for us,”** he said, gratitude radiating from his glowing features. **“Which is why it is _our_ turn to give _you_ something.”**

  
  


The courier's jaw dropped in surprise as the specter lifted up a set of clothes and boots from the tree stump and tentatively handed it to them.

**“Horace, Diana, Anne, and Zacharias made these for you,”** he told Clarence, **“they are enchanted to keep you warm in the cold, and cool in the heat.”**

The specter grinned slightly at the messenger as they gaped at the carefully-designed clothing in their arms. **“I have no doubt that they'll help you get through the desert rather easily,”** the Snatcher commented, pointing a finger at the folded heap of clothing. **“Go try them on!”**

Clarence's mouth soon shifted into a genuine smile. The crowd of ghosts parted to allow the courier to rush back through and into the house they had been staying in for the past few days. About a minute later, the courier emerged from the tree-stump home, dressed in their new boots, puffy pants, wonderful shirt and cape, and with their new belt secured safely around their waist.

They approached the specter, once more, their face lit up with pure glee and admiration.

“I-I don't know what to say,” the courier stuttered, still shocked from the wonderful surprise. “Thank you, all of you!”

All of a sudden, the Snatcher held up a finger.

**“There's one more thing,”** he quickly stated.

The courier fell silent, their eyebrows arched as they watched the specter lift up a mask from the tree stump.

**“The former kingdom of Subcon had a tradition of awarding someone who went above and beyond to do their duty with a badge of the highest honors,”** explained the maned ghost. He gazed down at the mask in his hands, carefully holding the piece of wood as though it could break at any moment. **“This badge is made with special metals shaped into a _very specific design;_ we have _never_ made it without those metals.”**

Sighing wistfully, he lifted his head back up to look Clarence in the eye, the specter's smile fading swiftly. **“Unfortunately, we don't have enough of the metals in question to make the badge,”** he regretfully informed them, **“and it is a highly-respected tradition that the badge be made with only those specific metals, and shaped to a _precise_ size.”**

Just as quickly as it had vanished, his fanged smile soon returned. **“But that does _not_ mean we cannot start a new tradition, for circumstances like this.”**

  
  


Wide eyes adorned the courier's face as they quickly realized what was going on.

The Snatcher's smile grew so large, it would have stretched from ear to ear, if he had any ears.

  
  


**“For your services to me, my people, and to the entirety of Subcon Forest,”** he announced, **“I award you with the highest honors in the form of this mask, crafted painstakingly by our carpenter, Selene, and painted by our skilled woodcutter, Clarissa.”**

  
  


The entirety of the village glanced at Clarissa with open-mouthed surprise. The woodcutter rubbed the back of her head and smiled at the- unbeknownst to everyone else- planned reveal of her skills as a painter.

Taking care of how he held it, the Snatcher handed the elaborately-carved white mask to Clarence.

The royal courier's face seemed to glow as they took in the majesty of the gloriously-painted and skillfully-carved design of the wooden mask that was in their hands. Elation _radiated_ from them as they smiled widely and gazed up at the ghostly ruler.

“I will wear these clothes and this mask with pride,” Clarence told him. Without another word, they slipped the mask on over their head and pulled up the hood on the back of their attire.

The Snatcher grinned as he placed his hands upon the messenger's shoulders. **“From this point onward, you are the official royal courier for Subcon Forest,”** he loudly declared.

  
  


The villagers _erupted_ into loud, boisterous cheering as they applauded the two. The Snatcher took Clarence's hand and shook it, sealing the deal on Clarence's new status as Subcon Forest's royal courier.

Once the cheering died down, Ophelia, Aureola, and Joseph hurried off to the bakery and brought out a _massive_ feast, placing everything upon the nearby tables swiftly. In just a few minutes, every ghost of Subcon Forest was seated, with Clarence on one end and the Snatcher on the other. Once everyone was seated, the specter lifted up his tankard.

**“To Clarence!”** he joyfully yelled.

_“To Clarence!”_ the villagers loudly mimicked, raising their own tankards in the air.

As the courier wrapped a hand around a tankard and pushed their mask up above their face with the other, they smiled brightly as they raised their own tankard to make their own toast.

“To prosperity,” they toasted, their smile wide on their face.

The Snatcher's yellow eyes shined with delight as he raised his tankard, once more, the other villagers joining in.

**“To prosperity!”** he happily bellowed.

_“To prosperity!”_ the villagers yelled in unison.

  
  


The ghosts of Subcon Forest and their new royal courier drank from their tankards, before digging into the wonderful feast before them. The sounds of joyful conversation and laughter filled Subcon Village as everyone chatted and joked, regaled one another with stories, and enjoyed the delightful food and drink Ophelia had prepared.

  
  


In that moment, everyone in the village knew one thing for certain.

  
  


_It was all downhill from here._

**It would be _easy_ to end the story there, wouldn't it? A perfect, _fairy tale_ ending for a bunch of ghosts who had their lives stolen away by a _wretched queen_ of ice and snow. One could imagine the ghosts of Subcon Forest all happily living their afterlives, trading with other kingdoms, and enjoying the peace.**

**But we all know that's _not_ what happened, no matter _how hard_ someone might want it to be so.**

**Though this story began with the death of a prince, he didn't let that stop him from helping his people carve out a new life from the wreckage.**

**But remember, it was _after_ the death of the desert's king that everything went downhill.**

**What a _curious_ expression "it's all downhill from here" is. The phrase itself can carry either a positive _or_ a negative connotation.**

**For example, in a more positive context, the phrase means that something difficult or arduous is done, and things will get easier, from now on.**

**Or, in the case of a negative context, it means that something is going to get worse at a steady rate.**

**Here, this funnily little expression has _both_ of these connotations, depending on your point of view.**

  
  


**For the ghosts of Subcon Forest, they would view this phrase positively. They got through the long war with Shady Sunburnt- an "uphill battle", if you will- and came out on top. They had re-established communication with the other kingdoms, Clarence was rewarded with the highest honors for their bravery, and now, the forest can reach out to the Alpine Skyline, once again.**

**To the villagers, "it's all downhill from here" would be seen as _positive,_ as now, they only have to enjoy a smooth ride down the figurative hill.**

_**But that's not what's truly happening, here.** _

**The truth is, "it's all downhill from here" has a _negative_ connotation in this story, _even if no one realizes it._**

**The figurative boulder rolling downhill began with the desert king's death, riding over little bumps here and there, sometimes slowing down, sometimes speeding up, until it reached a nice, gentle slope on even ground, where it slowed to an almost-complete stop.**

**Heck, it even started _going up_ over a small slope in the ground. "Thing's are looking up," am I right?**

**But here's the thing: just because the figurative boulder has _almost completely_ stopped, _doesn't_ mean it _has_ stopped.**

**  
  
**

**Which begs the question, "When _will_ it stop?"**

  
  


**Perhaps- after reaching that nice little ledge with even ground, and after going over that small bump- it will come to a stop, settle down, and let moss gather on it, forevermore.**

**But, as we all know, what goes up _must_ come down. And that includes that figurative boulder that teeters on the edge of that bump, waiting to gently begin rolling down a _barely-noticeable_ slope, that eventually becomes steeper, and steeper, and _steeper._**

  
  


**"It's all downhill from here" has a negative context in this story.**

  
  


**So here's an important lesson:**

_**Just because the figurative boulder has reached stable ground, doesn't mean it's reached the bottom of the hill, yet.** _


	26. A Bright Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a little light you're trying to cast on a problem ends up being the solution.

* * *

**Twenty-Five Years Later...**

* * *

  
  


Deep inside of the macabre Subcon Forest, the crescent moon high in the sky cast a subtle, eerie light upon the land. The spiders slowly spun their webs, each silky thread placed precisely to capture one of the various bugs that had a tendency to flit around the forest. The statues stood still, some headless, all waiting for anyone to pass by so they could grab them and drag them off to some unknown location. Various glowing mushrooms grew along the ground, their gentle light one of the few sources of illumination inside of the dark forest.

  
  


All was calm, all was silent...

  
  


_**“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”** _

  
  


One distorted yell _shattered_ the silence _like a rock through a glass window._

  
  


Near a massive, fungi-covered tree, the sight of an inky-haired human **plummeting** to his doom disrupted the peaceful air of the forest. His widened yellow eyes were _filled to the brim_ with fear as he fell, helpless to stop his descent as he _crashed_ into a crystal-clear pool beneath him. After a few seconds, he surfaced, water flowing down from on top of his body and swiftly returning to the normally-still pool as he floated motionlessly across the surface.

  
  


_All was silent, again..._

  
  


The human spat out some water and opened his eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

From up above, a small, masked, serpentine spirit dove towards him, a small wooden sword wrapped up tightly in their spectral tail. The tiny ghost stopped just a few feet away from the man, flipping energetically in mid-air.

**“You know, you're getting _too_ good at sword fighting, kiddo!”** the man praised, crossing his arms slightly as he flashed the child a fanged grin.

The spirit shook, as though they were laughing, before spinning around and raising their sword into the air.

  
  


The air of confidence they gave off clearly spoke for them, even though they made no sound at all.

  
  


_That's because I'm the hero of Subcon Forest!_

  
  


All around him, the human could hear silent cheering from countless other masked spirits that had gathered to watch the two of them. The voices of children _rang_ in his senses, excited by the victory of the “hero” of the forest.

  
  


_Way to go, Denise!_

_That was awesome!_

_I can't believe you beat him, again!_

  
  


A small chuckle escaped the human as he dragged himself out of the pond and stood up straight, pulling a small branch out of the pool along with him. With a snap of his fingers, he made the makeshift weapon vanish.

 **“Since you've defeated me once again, _little hero,_ ”** the man began to say, his tone slightly teasing for a second, **“I have no choice but to let you have _one thing_ that you desire.”**

He clasped his hands together, unable to hold up the villainous persona he bore as he smiled sincerely at the ghost. **“So, what will it be?”** he asked them. **“Staying up late? One extra sweet from the bakery? Perhaps patrolling the forest with me, tomorrow?”**

The little spirit excitedly flipped around in the air the moment they heard his last suggestion.

  
  


_Patrol! Patrol!_

  
  


A loud, amused laugh escaped the man as he nodded. He _knew_ that would be their choice.

**“All right, a patrol it is!”** he agreed, **“Now, let's get ready for dinner, shall we?”**

  
  


Instantly, the man's form changed, shifting into a tall, inky specter with thin arms, clawed hands, a tail, and a flowing mane. His face became smooth and barren, save for a fanged, yellow mouth and two yellow oval-shaped eyes. His features produced a gentle glow that lit up his shadowy face.

  
  


The ruler of Subcon Forest, _the Snatcher,_ smiled at the children all around him.

  
  


**“Come along, everyone!”** he called, beckoning with a wave of his hand. **“I heard Ophelia is making pumpkin pie for dessert!”**

The moment the words “pumpkin pie” left his glowing mouth, the masked spirits darted towards him, spinning and doing tricks in the air as they followed the maned phantom down the path from the massive tree and towards the nearby tree-stump village.

* * *

_So much had happened in just twenty-five years._

  
  


Upon Clarence's next visit to Subcon Forest, just after they left with their new clothes and mask, the courier brought news that surprised all of the forest's ghostly inhabitants.

Once the courier had returned to their country from the forest, they immediately reported to their king about what had transpired in Subcon Forest. After receiving confirmation that there were no more potential hostages trapped in the desert kingdom, the king ordered soldiers to be sent to the desert to overthrow Shady Sunburnt.

Much to everyone's surprise, they found very few people in the desert. From what they gathered from the soldiers and sorcerers there, the desert-dwellers hadn't seen the former Cabinet Minister since the battaile left to attack the forest. _No one knew where Shady was,_ and given the apparently battered looked on their faces- at least, according to the reports from the soldiers sent by Clarence's country- the desert's remaining inhabitants weren't keen on the idea of searching for the usurper.

  
  


They didn't seem to _want_ to, either. Nor did they want to attack Subcon's inhabitants, either.

  
  


Upon learning of this, Clarence's king pulled his forces back and sent word to the rulers of the other countries of the world. They came together for a formal council- which the ghostly ruler of Subcon Forest was invited to, under his former name- in order to discuss a peace treaty with the remaining members of the kingdom of the desert.

Despite how much he **despised** the desert soldiers and sorcerers that had _dared_ to attack his kingdom, the deceased prince's desire to bring peace to his people and end the hostile attacks against the forest was _greater_ than any hatred he harbored towards the mages and guards.

So he accepted the invitation, under the condition that his people came with him to Clarence's kingdom.

He didn't want _her_ to attack them, while he was gone.

The reply he received from the king- courtesy of Clarence- was an acceptance of the inky ghost's terms, but the foreign king did ask that the royal ghost's people hide the fact that they were ghosts, and disguised themselves appropriately.

“The citizens from my country would be rather _startled_ to see someone like you floating into the capitol,” Clarence had explained to the phantom.

 **“That's fair enough,”** the Snatcher had replied, setting the invitation down on the table. **“Tell your king we will set out for your country a month from now. That should give us plenty of time to get there, without arousing suspicion from the citizens.”**

  
  


The ghostly inhabitants of Subcon Forest had traveled through Clarence's country, the adults shape-shifted into their human forms, and the children wearing cloaks to hide their serpentine bodies. They were all _awed_ by the sight of the country, surprised by how different everything was, and excited to see the sights.

Which the Snatcher joined them in sight-seeing, and tried not to smile in a way that showed his fangs, along the way.

Eventually, they had reached the capitol, and the currently-human specter soon found himself at a table with all of the leaders of the world- and their diplomats, too. Owls, humans, cats, walruses, seals, and crows- the sapient kind- all sat around the table, ready and eager to discuss the treaty.

Admittedly, the human ghost was a tiny bit nervous; after all, this wasn't just _one_ leader, but the leaders of **every single country in the world!**

Nonetheless, he sat up straight, clasped his hands together, and got right down to business as they all discussed the details of the peace treaty with the desert's new leader; someone whose face was obscured by their hood, save for their glowing yellow eyes. They also had two-fingered hands, so they were more than likely the same species as Shady. Undoubtedly one of the people that had joined the former Cabinet Minister in his little coup.

The Snatcher _somehow_ managed to keep a straight face, despite the scowl that threatened to appear on it.

This new leader- Isaic Trest- plainly stated that he had no intentions of harming any of the former desert prince's people _or_ the prince, nor did they have any intent to harm any of the ghosts of Subcon Forest. They only wanted the citizens of the former Sunburnt Empire to live in peace with their forest-dwelling neighbors.

  
  


… Ah, yes, that was right. Before the Snatcher's father established a peace treaty with the desert's deceased king, the kingdom of the desert was called the _Sunburnt Kingdom,_ and the species of two-fingered, glowing-eyed people were called the _Sunburnt._ The deceased prince had forgotten that little detail.

The desert kingdom had abandoned the name of Sunburnt due to the dishonor they felt about the violent acts they had committed against the kingdom of Subcon under that name. However, no one could properly decide upon a good name for the kingdom of the desert _or_ a new name for their species- not to mention they had more important matters to deal with, like the small groups of their kind who still resented Subcon Forest for refusing to give in to their attempted invasions, centuries prior- so the kingdom and species went unnamed for many years.

And- _quite embarrassingly-_ the formerly-living prince had grown so used to to the kingdom and species being unnamed that he had _completely_ forgotten what their original names were.

  
  


_He wouldn't be able to face Raymond again for **days.**_

  
  


Aside from that- and his _disgust_ for Shady naming the desert kingdom the “Sunburnt Empire” aside, the specter was willing to establish a peace treaty the new leader of the desert. It was a _long_ process, but the treaty was eventually signed by everyone there, including the Snatcher and Isaic.

  
  


_No more attacks on the forest._ **No more fighting. _Only peace._**

  
  


The Snatcher felt _wonderful_ as he went home to the forest with his people.

  
  


_Everything was looking up._

* * *

With the new peace treaty came renewed trade routes between Subcon Forest and the other countries. The forest was quickly filled with new resources and goods, which they traded for with their own wares, like new clothes, shoes, armor and weapons, furniture...

  
  


Trade was going well between Subcon and rest of the world, needless to say.

  
  


Not only were they getting the raw materials they were severely lacking in, but thanks to Clarence, the king of the courier's country had sent over _countless_ books on the paranormal and magic to help the ghostly inhabitants find a way to keep _Vanessa_ inside of the manor, _permanently!_

Much to the specter's surprise, Zacharias had taken on the duty of going through the books on magic, studying them _fervently_ for any kind of spell that could do the trick. They weren't finding much that could help, however, but they soon became the village's resident “wizard”- as the miller liked to call themselves- due to how much they knew about magic from reading, alone.

In all of his afterlife, the Snatcher never thought _anything_ would prompt Zacharias to study so hard. And yet... it seemed like the countless books of spells had the magic touch to get the miller nose-deep into the tomes.

  
  


… Joseph's pun-making was _really_ rubbing off on him.

  
  


Naturally, with no clear spell to help keep _Vanessa_ in the manor, the Snatcher had to make sure that the snow in front of the entrance stayed piled up. But every once in a rare while, the **ice witch** would escape, and he would have to fight her and force her back into the manor, again- or, at least, fight her until she was too tired to keep fighting.

It was _tiresome,_ dealing with her. He was left _exhausted_ after every battle. But for his people, _his family,_ _he would fight as often as he had to,_ just to keep them safe from her clutches.

Which, fortunately, wasn't often at all.

Of course, there was also one other thing he'd have to deal with, on occasion...

  
  


With the new trade routes came people that wandered into Subcon Forest, either to bring goods to trade or simply to visit the spooky forest. The Snatcher welcomed them with open arms, but the new influx of people meant he needed to update some of his laws.

The rules of Subcon Forest would be stated in simple-to-understand terms to people who wandered into the forest. _No one_ was to break the laws of the forest, or be punished appropriately.

He would hear out the cases of each person that came into the forest and broke a law; he was a lawyer and- due to the lack of any proper court- the judge, but he was fair and just.

  
  


There was only one law that he would _not_ hear any arguments about.

  
  


**Never harm _any_ of the forest's ghosts under _any_ circumstances.**

  
  


This law was more directed towards visitors to the forest; after all, he didn't want another incident like what happened with _Lewis._

  
  


**Any _intentional_ harm done to _any_ of the villagers _or_ children would result in _severe punishment._**

  
  


Of course, the people who _tried_ to harm the ghosts mostly did so out of fear or unintentionally; the moment the visitors realized that the ghosts weren't going to hurt them, they _immediately_ apologized.

  
  


The Snatcher didn't punish them; after all, _they probably never saw a ghost, before._

On a side note, they also had an outhouse with a pipe system installed near the bridge, for any visitors that needed it. The ghosts would each take turns cleaning it out, or assign the chore as a punishment for any of the younger adults who misbehaved. Mostly Zacharias.

  
That was all he would say about that.

  
  


Despite having to greet the occasional visitors, with no worries about soldiers invading- and with Vanessa's attacks being so far and few in between, the Snatcher had _plenty_ of free time to spend with his people. He baked with Ophelia, helped Frederick with various science projects, aided Julio with growing various plants...

And- of course- he spent time with the children! Playing games with them, teaching them about constellations, exploring the forest with them, teaching them how to play music on the brand-new instruments the villagers were able to get from other countries, reading countless stories to them from faraway lands- and many a tale from Subcon Forest, back when the old kingdom was still around...

  
  


Everything was peaceful. _Their afterlives were the best they had ever been._

  
  


The years passed by, in sleepy Subcon Forest...

* * *

“Snatcher, come look at this!”

  
  


The Snatcher blinked a couple of times, shaking his head slightly as his reminiscing was interrupted by Julio, who was in the middle of looking through a large botanical encyclopedia.

The specter had gone to Frederick's laboratory with Julio, that day. The gardener was looking into flowers that he could experiment on to help them bloom in the moonlight, while the Snatcher was reading up on various types of magic to help him figure out how to permanently seal _Vanessa_ in her manor.

  
  


That... _wasn't_ going well, for him. So any distraction from his growing frustration was welcome.

  
  


Setting his book down, the maned ghost floated over to the gardener and leaned down to peer at the pages of the encyclopedia. Right on one page was some kind of orange flower that looked like a lily, with five pointed petals and three stamen. The stamen had tiny bits of smoke coming off of them, and the ends of the petals were singed. The leaves and stem were black, as though they were almost scorched, and more smoke was wafting up from each leaf.

  
  


**“Is that some kind of lily?”** the phantom asked, his eyes narrowing as he squinted at the illustration.

Julio's spectral eyes _gleamed_ as he poked the illustration. “That, right there, is a special type of flower that only blooms where Fire Spirits live,” the gardener explained in an almost child-like manner. “The whole plant is warm to the touch, and smoke is constantly emitted from its stamen and leaves! Oh, how I'd _love_ nothing more than to study a bloom like that!”

All of a sudden, the gardener paused as his ghostly face lit up. “That's not the _only_ flower that's caught my eye, either!”

Snatcher blinked as Julio suddenly flipped the pages to another flower; a blue one that seemed like a pinwheel almost, but whose center seemed to be some kind of swirl shape.

“Then there's _this_ beauty,” the gardener breathed, motioning to the unusual bloom. “ _A blue moonflower._ They bloom based on the phases of the moon, and _only_ at night. _Very_ rare...”

The specter held his non-existent chin, as that. **“A blue moonflower...”** he mused, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. **“I could get used to seeing a flower like that, around here.”**

Julio was practically _beaming_ at that statement. “So could I,” he agreed, sighing dreamily. “It's my _dream_ to see both of these blooms, even just _once.”_

A fanged grin stretched across the inky ghost's face as he pat Julio's shoulder, prompting the gardener to look up at him. **“I'm sure you will, one day,”** the Snatcher told the gardener.

Julio grinned and returned the shoulder pat, a wide warm smile growing upon his own face. “Thanks Snatcher; it means a lot to hear you say that.”

The specter nodded, before he removed his hand from the gardener's shoulder and netted his talon-like fingers together. **“So, what did you have planned for today?”** the Snatcher asked. **“I mean, I know you're reading, but did you have anything _major_ planned?”**

Julio tore his gaze away from the encyclopedia and focused on the Snatcher. An inquisitive ghostly brow was raised on the blue ghost's face as he stared at the forest's ruler.

**“I need a break from trying to find a spell for... you know, dealing with _her,”_** the forest's ruler explained.

“Well, I have something interesting here that I think will keep you busy!” Julio exclaimed, flipping rapidly through the encyclopedia's pages. Curiously, the phantom raised a nonexistent eyebrow and crossed his arms as he peered over the gardener's shoulder.

After a few good seconds of flipping through pages, Julio finally stopped on a page that had illustrations of different kinds of carnivorous plants. Eagerly, the gardener pointed at the illustrations and glanced over his shoulder at the Snatcher.

“As you know, we've been having some serious problems with the spiders in the forest for many years,” Julio explained, motioning slightly with his free hand as he spoke. “There are no predators for the spiders to keep their populations under control, so they're going _haywire,_ causing the local bug populations to decrease dramatically- which also puts the plants at risk, because they need these bugs to pollinate.”

**“I'm following you, so far,”** the specter stated, curiosity plain on his glowing face.

“So I thought, 'Why don't we give them a predator to keep their population under control?'” the gardener said, “but of course, we couldn't bring animals into the forest; I don't think there's a _single animal in the world_ that could survive the venom of Subcon's spiders. How could they _possibly_ get close enough to the spiders to kill them, and be able to _consume_ the venom the spiders have _without_ poisoning themselves in the process?”

He motioned to the plants on the pages. “Then I realized something; there _are_ predators that do that, every day!” he exclaimed. “Carnivorous plants! If I could breed a species of carnivorous plant that can safely consume _these_ spiders, we'd have a way of controlling the spider population!”

The Snatcher frowned slightly as he squinted at the illustrations of various carnivorous plants in the book. **“Julio, I hate to disappoint you, but all of these plants are rather...”**

He held his talon-like thumb and index finger about an inch apart. **“Well, _small,_ don't you think?”**

The gardener chuckled heartily as set the book down on a table. “Yes, but that problem can be resolved easily,” he reassured the inky ghost. “Once I figure out how to get them growing in Subcon's soil and with only moonlight to photosynthesize, I'll only need to do some selective breeding to ensure that they'll get big enough to eat the spiders. There's also the fact that I'll have to ensure they don't become invasive, as well...”

Julio began stroking his chin as his gaze returned to the book. “There's also the matter of shape; they'll need to be able to _completely_ trap the spiders, and we'll have to make sure they _don't_ try to swallow up anyone else, and I'll need to test the venom from the spiders to help the plants adapt to it...”

**“We're looking at _years_ of research and experimentation,”** the maned ghost pointed out.

“Yes,” Julio agreed, a cheerful grin spreading across his blue face, “but it will all be worth it once the plants manage to get the spider population down to a more controllable level!”

  
  


… Well, he had a point. Plus, they had all the time in the world now, didn't they?

  
  


A fanged grin stretched clear across the phantom's face as he clasped his hands together. **“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get started!”**

A couple of months went by in a flash. A good deal of that time was spent waiting for the right seeds to be delivered from other countries, but once they had arrived, Julio wasted no time with experimenting to help the new plants adapt to life in Subcon. The Snatcher and Frederick aided him whenever they could, and after an especially long wait, they saw success with the first tiny sprouts.

  
  


Julio _cried_ joyful tears when the carnivorous plants finally sprouted.

  
  


All three of the ghosts knew it would take _years_ before they would have a cultivar ready to tackle their arachnid problem, but getting these first plants growing and healthy was the first step in the whole process.

Naturally, Julio wanted to experiment with different types of carnivorous flora to see how they would fare in the forest, and their effectiveness in dealing with the spiders. As a result, the lab had a few different species of plants growing in various planters, where both Frederick and Julio kept a close eye on them.

Three of the other species were growing _splendidly_ in their new environment; in fact, they were adapting at a _much_ quicker rate than any of them expected!

One species, however, was struggling to get the energy it needed to actually _capture_ bugs.

  
  


For poor Julio, this problem was _aggravating_ to no end.

  
  


“I just don't _understand,”_ the gardener lamented as he tentatively held up a drooping leaf. “They were doing _so well_ with just moonlight and some regular bugs we've been feeding them, and now they're _dying...”_

Frederick frowned as he tried to comfort poor Julio. “Now, I'm sure there's a solution for this,” the scientist reassured him, “we just need to find it.”

Frederick's frown soon spread to the Snatcher's face as the taller ghost gently took hold of Julio's shoulder. **“Come on, Julio,”** he gently coaxed, leading the upset gardener away from the planter of failed cultivars. **“You've been at this for _weeks._ Let's find something to take your mind off of this, just for a bit.”**

With a heavy, sorrowful sigh, the blue ghost allowed himself to be led out of the laboratory. Frederick watched the two make their exit, while he stayed behind to examine the small blooms.

“I wonder what it is they're missing...” the scientist murmured to himself, holding his chin as he inspected the slowly-dying plants.

  
  


Outside of the tower, the Snatcher pat Julio gently on the shoulder as he floated over the chasm with the gardener. **“Don't worry,”** the maned specter said, “we'll figure out what the problem is. Besides, at least the other three cultivars are healthy, right?”

Julio nodded, a bit of cheer gradually returning to his face as he managed to give the forest's ruler a slightly somber smile. “You're right,” he replied, “we've got three other cultivars growing nice and healthy, don't we?”

**“That's the spirit!”**

  
  


The gardener raised a ghostly brow, his smile growing a bit more as he released a small chuckle.

The Snatcher blinked, before realizing what Julio was laughing about.

**“Ah... you know, maybe I should have Joseph teach me a thing or two about those puns of his,”** the taller ghost mused, tapping the edge of his fanged mouth with a finger. **“He's already rubbed off on me, so there's really no reason _not_ to learn some good ones, right?”**

“I look forward to seeing what puns Joseph has to teach you,” Julio replied, his smile growing more cheerful by the second.

  
  


The two ghosts grinned at one another as they floated into the village. Their amusement vanished, however, as they were quickly met with the sight of an excited crowd of ghosts gathered near the village's entrance.

Naturally, both the shadowy ghost and the gardener were confused.

  
  


**“What's going on?”** the Snatcher asked the crowd.

  
  


The large gathering of ghosts turned around to face their leader, large smiles plain on their spectral faces.

  
  


“Clarence and Gwendolyn are back,” Diana was quick to explain.

  
  


Those three words _immediately_ made the Snatcher float to the front of the group. Once he had the masked courier and stone mason in his sights, he rushed right over to greet them.

**“Clarence, Gwendolyn!”** He grinned widely as he took the courier's hand, and pat the stone mason's back. **“It's wonderful to see you two, again!”**

Gwendolyn pat the specter's arm and smiled faintly. “Good to be back,” she replied, before heading over to a stump to sit down.

Clarence shook the specter's hand before they lifted up their mask. The smiling visage of the forty-something-year-old messenger met the specter's gaze. “It _is_ certainly wonderful to be back,” Clarence said. “I have quite a few letters for everyone; including you.”

The messenger fished through their bag and pulled out a couple of small letters, which they handed off to him.

Over the years, Clarence not only served as Subcon Forest's official royal courier between their country and the forest, but also served as a means of communication between the forest and the Alpine Skyline. Diana had been the first to transport the courier to the mountains- there was no other way for anyone to reach the top, otherwise- and informed the nomads of the state of affairs in the world.

The nomads- though they were _overjoyed_ to hear that the desert was no longer under the control of Shady Sunburnt- had made the choice to stay in the mountains. Apparently, they rather liked the idea of starting a new life in the cold air, and they rather liked the company of the goats and the abundance of plant life that grew along the mountaintops.

Upon Clarence and Diana's return, the royal messenger didn't waste any time in handing off a large sackful of letters to the villagers.

The Snatcher had smiled when he learned that the nomads were faring well; his fanged grin only grew further when he read a letter from Ike. The father spoke about little Jeremiah and how they were growing up healthily and happily, and how the child was learning how to count quickly. Soon, the little one was writing their own letters to the specter in their messy handwriting, talking about things they learned or something exciting that happened to them...

  
  


The phantom nearly _teared up_ from joy.

  
  


Naturally, the ghosts of Subcon Forest wrote back to the nomads every time they received a letter, elated to once more have contact with their former neighbors. It soon became a common practice for one or two of the ghostly villagers to escort Clarence up the mountains, as there was no other way to traverse them.

  
  


Unless you were a goat, which the messenger _obviously_ wasn't.

Now, as Clarence handed out more and more letters to the villagers, the Snatcher swiftly sliced the envelopes open and read the letters inside each one.

Jeremiah had written to him again, as had Ike.

  
  


Jeremiah- now an adult- would soon be a _parent!_ Their spouse was pregnant, and Jeremiah was _excited_ to have a little one of their own! They were already picking out names and getting a crib ready for the child!

If he wasn't wary about giving them items from the manor, and were he able to actually summon them to his side- he couldn't summon things from the manor, for some reason- he would have sent _all_ of the toys and the crib from the old nursery for the expecting couple.

  
  


Lifting a talon-like finger to his eye, the specter wiped away a tear. **“They grow up so fast,”** he murmured, before opening another letter.

  
  


This one was from the former prince of the nomads! The former noble wrote that they hoped everyone in Subcon was doing well, and-

  
  


A frown fell upon the ghost's shadowy face as he read the rest of the letter.

Julio looked up from his own letter and noticed the specter's somber face. “What's wrong?” the gardener asked.

  
  


The Snatcher didn't respond, instead turning around to face the villagers.

**“Selene, Clarissa,”** the specter suddenly said, **“I must ask you if you would be willing to do something for me, and the nomads."**

  
  


Clarissa and Selene looked up from their letters, staring blankly at their ruler.

  
  


**“The nomads need masks,”** he stated plainly.

  
  


The entire village **immediately** understood the situation- and Julio quickly realized why the specter seemed so solemn.

* * *

Before the Cabinet Minister's coup, the former desert-dwelling nomads shared some similar customs with the kingdom of Subcon.

The most popular custom involved the masks that Subcon's children wore.

Now, the nomads used those masks for a _slightly_ different tradition- one that even the forest's _prince_ didn't know about. But it was a _very important tradition_ for the nomads, and one that they _needed_ to follow **to the letter.** One of the rules of the tradition was that **they could only use specific masks made in Subcon.**

Centuries back, during the Subcon-Sunburnt war, the former Sunburnt Kingdom of old obtained these masks through their countless assaults upon Subcon Kingdom, pillaging the houses and stores for the carved facewear. While most attacks from the Sunburnt Kingdom were attempted for the sake of expanding their territory, the attacks involving the theft of masks were done out of _desperation._

Fortunately, after the former desert kingdom and the forest's kingdom signed a peace treaty with one another, the people of Subcon were more than willing to make _plenty_ of masks for the desert-dwellers; another goodwill gesture between Subcon and the desert kingdom, and a way to say they no longer had any ill will towards the desert kingdom.

The Snatcher didn't know the specific details as to _why_ the former Sunburnt wanted the masks _so badly_ that they would risk life and limb just to steal them from the forest, but he _did_ know that it was for _highly important cultural beliefs_ that even the nomads still follow, to this day.

  
  


In his letter, the former prince of the desert explained that they were in need of masks for the next festival- not the one that involved giving gifts that Subcon had, but for another one involving that secret, unknown tradition that the nomads had- as there were new children in their community, and the children already there were growing older and needed new masks made. Having very few trees that they could actually risk cutting down- and due to the fact that they didn't have the tools needed to properly make the wooden masks, the former noble was asking if they ghosts of Subcon Forest could supply them with new masks.

* * *

“When do they need the masks?” the carpenter asked.

**“Two months from now,”** the Snatcher informed them. He swiftly flew over to the two and handed them the letter. **“They need this many masks made and painted.”**

Selene glanced over the letter, her lips thinning slightly as she read. “That many... we could make that many masks in just _one_ month!” she eagerly exclaimed, a bubbly smile clear on her face. “They have to be the generic masks we make, right? Shouldn't be a problem!"

“I can get them painted that fast,” Clarissa agreed, her face sporting a confident grin. “This will be a breeze!”

“I can deliver them directly to the Alpine Skyline, the next time I come here,” Clarence offered.

Instantly, the Snatcher clasped his hands together. **“Wonderful!”** the phantom cried. **“Now, who would like to escort Clarence to the mountains, once he returns?”**

“I can take them over,” Julio suddenly volunteered. “That is, if someone can look after the plants, while I'm gone."

Blinking in surprise, the phantom turned to the gardener. **“Are you sure, Julio?”** the forest's ruler asked, slight concern creeping onto his glowing features. **“I didn't think you would want to leave, what with the one cultivar being-”**

“I don't, but I think this might help get my mind off of that, for a bit,” the gardener explained. “Maybe I'll be able to think of a solution when I'm not stressing over the problem. Plus, I'm curious about what kinds of flora are up in the mountains!”

  
  


… Well, if it would help keep Julio from stressing over the failing cultivar...

  
  


**“All right,”** the Snatcher agreed. He soon turned to the courier. **“But for now, Clarence, how about some tea? You must be tired from the long trip!”**

By the time the next month rolled around, Selene and Clarissa had finished carving and painting the masks needed, and the Snatcher had worked with Horace to make a couple of large bags specifically for the purpose of transporting the wooden masks safely to the nomads. Once Clarence returned from their country, the masks were safely wrapped up and placed in the bags, and the letters that the ghosts had written for the nomads were carefully tucked into Clarence's smaller bag.

  
  


Julio lifted the straps of one bag up onto his ghostly shoulders, while Clarence hefted up the other.

“We will return in about a month,” the courier told the specter.

  
  


The Snatcher smiled brightly as he glanced between Julio and Clarence.

**“Safe travels, you two,”** he bade them farewell.

Julio let out a hearty laugh as he held onto the straps of his bag. “Our travels are _guaranteed_ to be safe, since there's a _ghost_ around!” he declared with a wink.

  
  


The gardener and courier departed for the mountains, a forest full of ghosts waving the two off with well-wishes.

A month later, the two returned.

  
  


The entire village greeted them both, the villagers hugging Julio and patting him on the back while the ruler of the forest enthusiastically shook Clarence's hand.

The moment their hand was free, the messenger wasted no time in handing out letters to the villagers and their leader.

  
  


The nomads had thanked them for supplying the wonderful masks. Frantically-scribbled letters on the piece of parchment from the former desert prince revealed that he could barely contain his excitement and joy at how the forest's inhabitants had _once again_ aided the mountain-dwellers in their time of need.

  
  


Nothing could stop the wide, cheerful grin that appeared on the Snatcher's face.

  
  


“Snatcher, you will _not_ believe what I saw up in the mountains!”

  
  


His attention snatched away, the maned ghost quickly turned about just in time to meet the sight of glowing white petals.

**“Is that a-”**

_“A glowing flower!”_ Julio cut him off, the gardener's face practically _screaming_ with pure, child-like glee as he held the flower up to the ghostly noble. "Not to mention I got some seeds for a new type of tree that will help make the forest a bit warmer!" The gardener shook his head, turning the glowing bloom slightly so the specter could get a better look. "But that's beside the point; just _look_ at this beauty!"

  
  


He couldn't blame Julio for being so excited; glowing mushrooms were one thing, but glowing _flowers?_ Even _he_ was amazed!

  
  


_**“That's remarkable!”**_ the Snatcher gasped, awestruck by the unusual bloom.

  
  


Zacharias flew off into the distance, holding a large book above their head. A faint "WOO!" softly echoed through the tree-stump village.

Neither the Snatcher nor Julio noticed, as they were both completely mesmerized by the glowing flower.

“I've already harvested the seeds,” the gardener excitedly informed the specter, “and not only that, but this tiny flower gave me a _fantastic_ idea for the failing cultivar!”

The Snatcher tore his yellow eyes away from the glowing petals and focused on the gardener. **“What kind of idea?”** he curiously inquired.

“Oh, you'll see!” the blue ghost told him. “I need to get to the laboratory; there's no time to waste!”

Just as suddenly as he had rushed over, Julio darted off for the laboratory with more energy than he ever had, just a couple of months prior.

Relief flooded the maned ghost's features as he watched Julio eventually vanish from sight.

  
  


Though a yellow smile was now on his face, the maned ghost couldn't help but wonder what the gardener had planned...

* * *

“Come quickly- take a look!”

  
  


About a couple _more_ months later, the Snatcher found himself being _shoved_ straight into the laboratory tower. The specter was horribly confused by what had Julio all in a rush, but trying to ask the gardener what was going on proved fruitless- mostly due to the fact that Julio was jabbering, and the maned ghost couldn't make out a _word_ the blue spirit was saying!

**“Jul-whoa!”**

All of a sudden, they stopped in front of a small planter.

“Take a look; they're _healthy!”_ Julio loudly whispered.

Upon closer examination, the Snatcher suddenly realized that the planter contained the cultivar that Julio was having so much trouble with, and-

  
  


The plants' blooms were _glowing._

  
  


**“They're _glowing,_ and they're _healthy...?”_** the ruler mumbled, his yellow eyes growing as he tentatively poked the glowing bloom.

“I know this species has given me quite a bit of trouble, and the glow _might_ prove a problem with attracting the spiders,” admitted the gardener, “but think of it this way; we could plant these flowers in the village to _scare away_ the spiders!”

  
  


_… He was right._

  
  


Cheer now etching its way across his face, the specter wrapped an arm around the gardener **“We'd need to make them much bigger, but you make a good point!”** His glowing eyes focused on Julio as he congratulated the blue ghost. **“Well done, Julio! What a _marvelous_ solution to such an irritating problem!”**

Julio beamed as he wrapped his arm around the royal ghost's shoulder. “Thank you!” he cried, “I'm _still_ stunned that they're so healthy, now!”

As they watched the small glowing petals of the carnivorous plants, the Snatcher suddenly grinned mischievously.

  
  


**“The future is certainly looking _bright,_ isn't it?”**

  
  


The gardener burst into a loud guffaw, which the phantom soon joined with his own distorted laughter.


	27. The Barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how one small barrier can bring so much joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hey all! Originally I would update this fic once every three days, but I moved that up to once every four days when school started. Now, I'm going to be updating it once every five days!
> 
> No, I'm not getting burned out on it; quite the opposite, actually! But even if you're able to hyperfixate on things like I do, it's good to take a break from writing and to pace your work so you don't burn yourself out on it. Plus, taking breaks allows your mind to rest for a bit, and helps with improving the quality of your writing, and this fic is my own personal project that I want to make the best that I can!
> 
> So even though you're going to have to wait an extra day for a new chapter, with pacing my work, you'll be getting better-quality writing and writing that I feel proud about posting!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!)

**He was getting _really_ tired of this.**

  
  


The Snatcher emerged from the snowy landscape and crossed the bridge, his shadowy tail dragging through the snow and across the cold stone. An unnatural silence hung heavy through the air, only interrupted briefly by the tolling of a gigantic bell that hung from the top of Julio's home.

The maned ghost took a detour to stop the bell's movement, before he tiredly yelled out into the forest.

**“It's all clear!”**

  
  


_He sensed the villagers and the children moving away from the towers that had been built for them to hide in._

  
  


A groan escaped from his fanged mouth as he glided back to his tree home and promptly collapsed in his armchair. The Snatcher closed his glowing eyes, slipping off into a deep sleep, moments later.

  
  


… A small masked spirit poked their head into the tree home. Silent as could be, the child motioned with their tail, beckoning a whole group of children over. Carrying a blanket over swiftly, the children draped the blanket over the specter and settled themselves down around him to sleep.

Anthony wrapped his tail around a tuft of the shadowy ghost's mane.

… Still fast asleep, the inky phantom moved his arm from underneath the blanket and rested his hand on the child, gently stroking the top of the masked spirit's head with his thumb.

* * *

Another fight with _Vanessa._

  
  


He was **sick and tired** of having to fight her, every time she escaped from the manor.

No matter how much snow he piled up in front of the manor doors, that _accursed_ **ice witch** somehow managed to slip through, when he least expected it. It was **aggravating!** **Why couldn't she just stay in that manor and _leave them all alone!?_**

The phantom had _hoped_ that Zacharias would have found some way to seal her in the manor, by now. Unfortunately, the miller had informed him that they needed a bit more time to research some different types of magic.

As understanding as he was, he couldn't help but feel a bit anxious about having to wait. After having to fight _her_ again, he was getting more and more antsy for some way to keep that **_monster_** in that horrid manor-

  
  


“Snatcher, your quill is dripping onto the table.”

  
  


Raymond's voice snapped the maned ghost out of his deep contemplation. Glancing down, he quickly discovered a growing puddle of ink beneath the nib of his quill.

**“Oh-!”**

Snapping a rag to his hand, he sheepishly cleaned up the spot. **“Sorry, Raymond,”** he apologized, **“I guess there's a lot more on my mind than just grading homework.”**

  
  


When the Snatcher woke up today, he had found himself surrounded by sleeping children. Aside from instantly _warming his soul_ and improving his mood _considerably,_ it also gave him the idea to check and see if Raymond and Frederick needed any help with the children's lessons. Frederick had everything covered on his hand, but Raymond had mentioned they needed some help with grading the kids' assignments.

  
  


Which had been going well, until the shadowy ghost found himself lost in thought about yesterday's fight with the **ice witch.**

  
  


Despite the mess, Raymond dismissively waved a hand and smiled. “It's all right,” they told him, “it's not like the children don't make a mess of their desks, every so often!”

The schoolteacher paused as they raised their brow and tapped their own quill against their mouth. “Although, it's rather odd to see _you_ make a mess,” they remarked, pointing their quill at the specter. “Usually you're so _neat,_ and not so... _absentminded.”_

A nervous chuckle escaped from the Snatcher as he glanced back down at the parchment he was supposed to be grading. **“I guess I _am_ a bit distracted, aren't I?”** he mused. **“I've had quite a bit on my mind, recently.”**

“Well, why don't you talk about it?” Raymond happily suggested, following the taller ghost's suit as they marked a small mistake one of the children made on their assignment. “It might help you feel better!”

The quiet scratching of his quill's nib on parchment was the only sound that was heard, for a few seconds, before the shadowy phantom sighed and placed the writing instrument in a nearby inkwell.

**“I'm anxious,”** he simply stated.

“Anxious? Whatever for?” the teacher inquired.

A waved of his clawed hand directed Raymond's attention towards the direction of the bridge.

**“It's been years, and we still have no way to seal _her_ in the manor,”** the Snatcher explained, frustration evident in the deep frown that formed upon his face. **“I know Zacharias is deep into their research about magic, but having to wait is _agonizing!”_**

Raymond's smile faded away as they watched the specter hold his ghostly forehead in a hand.

**“She has been a thorn in my side for _far_ too long,”** he grumbled, **“both in my life _and_ my afterlife. First the bacon ban... and then she cut and dyed my hair...”**

Raymond frowned as they nodded slightly, glancing off to their left. “I remember that,” they recalled, shaking their head quickly at the memory. “You said you were going for a new look, back then.”

**“I was such a fool,”** the deceased prince murmured, **“I should have seen the signs...”**

“Snatcher...” Raymond trailed off, before gently patting the specter's shoulder. “You may have made a few... _errors_ in judgment-” the teacher tentatively acknowledged.

 _ **“Tell me about it,”**_ he mumbled.

 _“- but everyone makes mistakes,”_ they stressed. “You couldn't have seen those signs, because you were _in love.”_

Slowly, the Snatcher removed his hands from his face as he focused his gaze on the smaller ghost.

Seeing that they had his attention, the teacher gave him a comforting, understanding smile.

“Besides, you know better now, don't you?” they reminded him. “You learned from the past, and that's put you in a much better place in the present, hasn't it?”

  
  


_… He couldn't argue with that logic._

  
  


Glancing down at the stacks of parchment, the specter quietly said, **“I suppose you're right.”**

Beaming eagerly, Raymond pat the taller ghost on the back. “As for your anxiety about finding a way to keep _her_ in the manor, I offer you only a small bit of advice that Frederick likes to give me very, _very_ often.”

The spirit cleared their ghostly throat and raised a finger as they closed their eyes. “'Good things come to those who wait,'” Raymond told the Snatcher, tilting their head side-to-side slightly as they did their best impression of the scientist.

The Snatcher _wheezed,_ bursting into laughter at the impression.

Raymond held their hands together and smiled joyfully. “As troubling as it may be, just be patient,” they advised the royal ghost, “and a solution will eventually show itself!”

As the specter wiped a tear from his eye, he flashed the teacher a grateful smile. **“Thanks, Raymond. I can always count on you for a good laugh, and to be honest.”**

With a wink, Raymond sat up straight as a pin and saluted him. “Professor Raymond, always at your service, _Sir!”_ the schoolteacher declared in a serious tone.

The Snatcher _doubled over_ with laughter. It took a good minute for him to calm down and clear his glowing eyes of tears as he lifted his quill back up.

**“You always _were_ a goofball, Raymond,”** the specter sighed, returning his gaze to the assignment he was grading.

“The _goofiest_ goofball!” Raymond corrected him, their eyes twinkling with joy. “That's why the children love me; I _always_ make lessons fun!”

**“So does Frederick.”**

“Well, yes, but he doesn't have my _boundless_ energy, does he?”

  
  


The witty banter continued on for quite a while as the two went through the countless assignments before them.

Eventually, the Snatcher finished grading the last piece of parchment, and sighed with relief as he put down his quill. **“The kids are doing better with their homework!”** he happily noted.

“Isn't it wonderful?” Raymond asked, ending the last parchment they needed to grade with a flourish. “They are doing _so much better_ than last year! Why, I asked Chris about how the Subcon-Sunburnt War began, and they answered _correctly!”_

His mouth fell open as he stared incredulously at the teacher. **“We're talking about _Chris,_ right? Mischievous, _prank-loving_ Chris?”**

“The one and only!” they confirmed, setting their quill aside as they held their hands together. “I couldn't have been prouder of them!”

 **“Wow...”** Amazement filled his inky form as he tilted his head back and gazed up at the sky. **“They're learning so much...”**

  
  


“Hey, boss!”

  
  


The reflective mood was swiftly broken by a loud yell as Zacharias darted over with a gigantic grin on their face.

Blinking a couple of times, the Snatcher floated up from the table and over to the miller. **“You look excited, Zacharias,”** he was quick to note, **“did something happen?”**

Pure excitement bursting from their form, Zacharias waved a gigantic tome over their head. “I found something that I think might help us with _her!”_ he cried.

His yellow eyes grew _enormous._ **“Are you _sure?”_** he seriously asked the miller.

 _“Positive,"_ Zacharias replied with a quick nod. "Come on, I'll show you!”

The schoolteacher smiled cheerfully at the specter. “Well, looks like waiting paid off, didn't it?” Raymond jested. “Thank you for the help, Snatcher. Now, you'd better go see what the fuss is all about!”

A massive grin stretched across the inky ghost's face as he turned to the schoolteacher. **“Thanks, Raymond! I'll see you later!”** he called, waving at them briefly before he turned to follow Zacharias.

As the two ghosts left, Raymond sighed cheerfully as they gathered up the pieces of parchment on the table.

“Ah... and to think Zacharias used to avoid reading, whenever they could,” the teacher chuckled, floating off with the graded papers in their arms.

* * *

**“Er, Zacharias... why are we in the swamp?”**

  
  


After learning of where Zacharias had been leading him, the Snatcher was understandably perplexed by the choice of location. His confused gaze followed the miller as they hovered near the well, cradling the thick tome in one arm as they flipped through the pages.

“Because this might also help with our 'can't fly close to the swamp safely' problem, as well,” the miller replied, their ghostly brow furrowed a they focused on searching through the book.

The Snatcher blinked, before holding up his hands. **“Wait a minute, _wait a minute,”_** said the specter, **“how can... _whatever_ it is you're doing... help us traverse the swamp _without_ going so high up?”**

Zacharias merely grinned and put the book down on the small wooden platform near the bell. “Watch.”

  
  


Before he could react, the miller drifted down, and tapped the muck of the swamp with their tail.

  
  


The phantom _panicked_ as three hands **rose up after the ghost.**

  
  


He reached out towards the miller. _**“Zacharias!-”**_

  
  


The miller darted over to the top of a leafy branch, crossing their arms and grinning proudly.

The hands that were pursuing them suddenly _retreated back into the swamp._

  
  


He blinked, dumbfounded. **“What...”**

Proud of themselves, the miller floated back over to the Snatcher and flashed what would have been a toothy grin.

_**“How...”**_ the inky ghost murmured, bewildered by what just happened.

“Look closely at the branch,” they instructed.

As the specter took another look at the leafy branch, he suddenly realized that it was apparently _green_ in color. Absolutely baffled, the inky ghost turned to Zacharias, who had picked the tome back up.

**“Why is it-”**

“Green?” Zacharias finished his for him, still grinning as they motioned to the book they held. “Well, it's apparently a type of magic the goats have in the Alpine Skyline. Objects can be sent to _another dimension entirely,_ but still be visible in this one. But- and here's where things get interesting-”

They motioned to the branch with a grand, sweeping gesture. “ _\- ghosts can't go through it._ It's like a completely solid object, for us!”

His nonexistent jaw dropped as he looked between Zacharias' excited face and the green, leafy branch.

**“Ghosts can't go through it...?”** he repeated, utterly amazed that such magic could exist.

“Yep! But people that are alive _can,”_ they admitted, scratching the back of their head. “Fortunately, there's bells that can be made to make them solid for the living, too. So if anyone needs to get through the swamp, they just need to ring the bell!”

The specter's features were _radiating_ with joy as he pat Zacharias on the back. **“That's _spectacular,_ Zacharias!”** he cried, **“We could put up a barrier right in front of the path to the manor!”**

 _“Exactly!”_ Slamming the tome shut, the miller's grin grew so wide, it surely would have stretched from ear to ear, if they still had ears. “I already practiced using this magic a bit, so let's try it out!”

One short flight and some dimensional magic later, a large green barrier was up in front of the path to Vanessa's manor.

  
  


Needless to say, both of the ghosts were _thrilled_ by the results.

  
  


**“Zacharias, I don't think we need to worry about _her_ getting loose, ever again!”** the Snatcher gleefully exclaimed.

The miller gave him a cheeky grin. “If only we could see the look on her face when she figures out she can't get through this baby,” they laughed, closing up their tome.

That put a huge, amused smile on the phantom's face.

  
  


He could picture the contorted expression of _fury_ beneath the veil darkness covering the **ice witch's** face, as she _**raged**_ at her inability to get out into the forest...

_Oh, he **really** enjoyed entertaining that thought!_

  
  


**“Well, let's get back to the village,”** the Snatcher said, clasping his clawed hands together. **“I'm sure the others are missing us, by now!”**

  
  


At that cue, Zacharias floated by the specter's side as the two made their way back over the bridge.

  
  


“You think Ophelia's made any more bacon, today?”

**“I sure hope so!”**

* * *

Before anyone knew it, _a whole month_ had passed them by.

  
  


The Snatcher sat back in his chair, feeling more refreshed than he had in _years._ With the threat of _Vanessa_ now gone, thanks to the magical barrier, he no longer felt a need to pile snow up against the manor's doors. She wouldn't be able to leave the path, anyway, and the only way out was blocked.

All in all, everything was peaceful...

  
  


_She was out of the manor._

  
  


His eyes widened momentarily, before he remembered the barrier. Allowing himself to relax with his book, the specter nestled back down as he went over some of his favorite unusual laws.

  
  


_She was going through the path._

  
  


The Snatcher glanced up from his book momentarily, before smirking slightly as his gaze fell back to the words on the pages.

_Walk all you want, you **revolting hag,**_ he thought, _but you won't make it very far-_

  
  


**_She was going through the old village._ **

  
  


He _froze,_ before **slamming** his book shut and tossing it onto the ottoman. Quick as a wink, the specter _bolted_ out of his home and to Julio's, and **whacked** the bell with his tail.

The ringing of the bell echoed throughout the forest, stirring the ghosts from their sleep and alarming _everyone_ that heard the sound.

While they were springing into action and herding the children to the towers, the specter rushed over the bridge into the frigid, snow-covered, ice-speared village and _scowled_ as he spotted the **ice witch,** well past the barrier and making haste for the bridge. In the distance, the green barrier stood tall and intact.

His eyes _narrowed_ as a growl escaped his fanged mouth.

  
  


_How did she get through the barrier?_ **She _shouldn't_ have been able to get through it!**

  
  


The witch's red eyes locked onto the specter in a _fierce_ glare that sent **chills** down his nonexistent spine. An inhuman screech _erupted_ from her as she **charged** at him, ready to _**freeze him solid.**_

  
  


**“So much for getting rid of this thorn in my side,”** he bitterly mumbled, a blue flame forming in his open palm.

* * *

“I don't understand why it didn't work! She shouldn't have been able to get through it!”

  
  


The Snatcher sat in his chair, his eyes closed and a clawed hand holding his forehead. Tired and somber, the specter stayed that way as Zacharias threw their hands up in frustration and paced around the specter's tree home.

He had sent _Vanessa_ packing right back into her manor, and sent a large pile of snow down in front of it. He had _won,_ but the fact that she had gotten through the green barrier left him feeling _utterly defeated._

  
  


With a heavy sigh, the maned ghost shook his head. **“But she did,”** he reminded the miller, motioning with his free hand as he spoke. **“ _How_ could she have gotten through?”**

Almost immediately, Zacharias flipped their tome wide open and rapidly turned the pages, their brow furrowed, their frown deep, and utter frustration radiating from their eyes. “I don't know,” they grumbled, "It just doesn't make any sense!"

The Snatcher removed his hand from his forehead and opened his eyes, focusing his gaze on the miller.

Zacharias' frustration with the whole problem was rather... _startling,_ to say the least. Sure, he had seen them frustrated about various things, in the past, but never with so much... _anger._

**"Zacharias, _calm down,"_** the Snatcher advised the miller.

Instead of heeding the specter's advise, Zacharias grabbed their book and rapidly flipped through the pages. "It can't be that she's too _powerful_ to go through; that just isn't _possible,_ from what I've read!"

He frowned. **"Zacharias-"**

"Did I get the spell wrong? I followed what the book said to do!"

**"I think-"**

"Maybe I missed a step?"

**"Maybe you should-"**

"No, I didn't! Why the heck didn't it work!?"

_**"Zacharias, stop for a moment!"**_ the Snatcher suddenly yelled.

The miller whipped their head up, their expression _twisted_ by frustration- something that startled the specter **immensely.**

"I _can't!"_ the miller shouted back, "Not until I figure out _why the barrier didn't work!"_

The Snatcher's mouth vanished as he fell silent. The expression on the miller's face wasn't one of rage, but... desperation. They were irritated with the problem, yes, but the look in their spectral eyes was... concern? Fear? He couldn't quite tell.

Zacharias' expression quickly changed from twisted aggravation to apologetic. "Sorry, Snatcher," they suddenly said, "this whole thing just doesn't make sense, and I'm... I guess I'm a bit panicked."

_... Well, that was a first._

**"It's fine,"** the ruler told them, **"but I _really_ think you should calm down, before you try to figure out what went wrong."**

"I know," they muttered, lowering their gaze to the book. “I can't help but focus on this, though. Ghosts _can't_ go through the barrier; this doesn't make any-”

They suddenly cut themselves off, realization dawning on their face. The miller turned to him with a rather bewildered expression.

  
  


_Zacharias asked a question that no one **ever** thought to ask, before._

  
  


_“Is_ Vanessa a ghost?” they inquired.

  
  


The specter's frown deepened, his figurative brow furrowing as he held a hand up to his nonexistent chin.

  
  


Now that they mentioned it, if Vanessa _truly_ wanted to attack them, why didn't she just go through the walls of the manor to get out? She _always_ seemed to escape through the front doors, when there wasn't enough snow piled up in front of them. And _not once_ did he ever see her _fly,_ or _phase through objects..._

… Come to think of it, _she hadn't changed a bit,_ since he escaped from the cellar. She still _looked_ the same, _sounded_ the same...

Aside from being a **hideous monster of darkness,** _she hadn't aged a day,_ it seemed. But if she was _dead,_ surely she would be able to use _intangibility,_ or the power of _flight..._

  
  


**“I don't know,”** he uncertainly said, **“I have _never_ seen her fly, and she has _never_ used intangibility, in any way...”**

The moment they heard his answer, the miller suddenly flipped to a different page in the book.

“If she's not a ghost, then the barrier won't work,” they told him.

  
  


Before he could say a _word,_ Zacharias held up a finger.

  
  


“But,” they quickly said, “there _is_ a type of magic in here that's similar to the green barriers and objects. Ghosts _can_ go through these objects and barriers, but living people _can't,_ unless they ring a bell.”

  
  


His mouth growing thin, the Snatcher became contemplative. **“Do you think you could test this magic with a new barrier?”** he asked Zacharias.

Zacharias glanced away, somewhat uncertain. “Uh...” he quietly muttered, “I may need a bit of practice, first...”

After quite a few test practices involving some of the forest's towers and a lone tree stump behind the massive tree home, Zacharias felt confident enough to remove the green barrier at the entrance to the path and replace it with a purple one.

Which they did. And boy, was it _tall!_

The moment he laid his eyes upon the purple barrier, he had _gaped_ at its height.

**“I'd ask if a barrier that tall is _necessary,_ but given that this is _Vanessa_ we're dealing with...”**

He trailed off as Zacharias laughed and closed their tome. “Hey, just wanted to be careful, boss,” they replied, nudging Snatcher with their elbow. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

  
  


He stared at the miller, disbelief practically _written_ on his inky face.

**“Zacharias, for as long as I've know you, you never _once_ took that saying seriously.”**

“Well... I can make exceptions for very _special_ circumstances.” They shrugged and grin, before their grin fell. “Do you think she'll break through this one?” they asked, concern hinted in their tone.

**“I hope not,”** the shadowy ghost replied.

  
  


The two stared at the purple barrier for a long, _long_ time.

_Neither of them said a word._

  
  


The Snatcher was the one who eventually broke the silence. **“Now all we can do is wait...”**

“Yeah...” The miller nodded, closing their tome.

  
  


_Another moment of silence passed._

  
  


**“I'm still going to pile up snow in front of the manor's doors.”**

“Fair enough.”

* * *

It took him a while to recover from his downcast mood. Fortunately, the cheerful villagers and their kindness made it difficult for any somber state to last. Eventually, the specter was once more happy, flying about the forest, greeting visitors, and enjoying the relative peace that settled over the night-locked land. Despite his lightened mood, he kept his senses honed in on the manor, and made sure the snow pile stayed tall and thickly-packed in front of the manor's doors.

One night, he sat down in his armchair and made himself comfortable with his book of unusual laws. He was eager to just relax and spend the night looking over the odd decrees and rules that could be found the world over...

  
  


**_She was out of the manor._ **

  
  


**This time, _he didn't wait._**

  
  


He flew up from his chair and put the book back on the shelf, before rushing straight over to the giant bell above Julio's home and whacking it **hard** with his tail. While the villagers roused themselves from slumber, the forest's ruler darted over the bridge and came to a stop in front of the purple barrier.

He flexed his clawed fingers, and grew to his much more _massive_ form.

  
  


_She was on the path._

  
  


His yellow eyes narrowed as his mouth turned down into a **ferocious scowl.**

  
  


_She was right behind the barrier._

  
  


**He growled, ready to _fight._**

  
  


**_…_ **

  
  


_**She didn't go past the barrier.** _

  
  


His expression faltered for a moment, confusion creeping into his fierce expression for the briefest of seconds.

  
  


Then-

  
  


_“AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHH!!!”_

  
  


The most _infuriated, distorted scream_ came from the other side of the barrier. The sound of scratching claws **echoed** through the chilling landscape. Each slash produced faint, ethereal ting as the _wretched royal_ **clawed _violently_** at the barrier.

  
  


All he could do was watch, fearing that _she might break through the barrier._

  
  


What felt like an _eternity_ of worried staring, claws scraping, otherworldly tinging, and unbridled, rage-filled screaming passed.

All he could do was watch, and flex his claws, and do _whatever_ it took to make himself **as terrifying as possible.**

Internally, he _panicked,_ and **worried,** and _**feared**_ that she would break through the purple barrier.

  
  


**He couldn't take much more of this.**

_**The suspense was horrible and agonizing!** _

  
  


_… Everything fell silent._

  
  


He watched.

  
  


He waited.

  
  


…

  
  


One _ear-piercing, shrill shriek_ rang long and loud, echoing from the icy land out to the forest.

  
  


**Then all was silent, once more.**

  
  


_He sensed her heading back up the path, to her manor._

  
  


His glowing features grew less intense.

  
  


_He sensed her moving across the grounds, and going into the manor._

  
  


He **swore** that, very faintly, he could hear the sound of **_doors being slammed shut._**

  
  


His frown vanished. Joy _shot up_ through him like a geyser as a large, fanged smile spread clear across his shadowy face.

  
  


_**She didn't break through the barrier.** _

  
  


Just for good measure, he willed some snow in front of the manor's doors, anyway.

_**“AND STAY IN THERE!”**_ he roared, unable to contain the glee that had _filled him to the brim._

Hope sprang forth from him as he rushed back across the bridge and silenced the gigantic bell's tocsin.

  
  


**_“It's all clear!”_** he called, excitement ringing clear in his distorted voice.

  
  


As the villagers returned from the towers, the Snatcher clasped his hands together and grinned at them all.

Naturally, the villagers- excluding Zacharias- were confused.

  
  


“You seem cheerful...”

“Did something happen?”

“You're not tired... What happened, out there?”

  
  


The onslaught of questions from the other ghosts came so _quickly_ that he couldn't tell who was asking what.

  
  


He held up his hand.

The villagers fell silent.

  
  


**“I have some _magnificent_ news to tell all of you,”** he announced. His glowing gaze fell to Zacharias as he floated over and placed a hand on the miller's shoulder.

He could tell Zacharias already knew what the news was, given the gigantic grin on their face.

**“Thanks to Zacharias' help, _Vanessa_ can no longer enter the rest of the forest,”** the specter told them.

  
  


Naturally, everyone was _stunned_ as they focused their attention on the miller.

  
  


Zacharias merely gave them all a confident grin as the Snatcher removed his hand from their shoulder.

The face of the forest's ruler was _glowing-_ both figuratively _and_ literally- as a booming, triumphant yell left him.

  
  


**“From now on, she will never bother us, _ever again!”_**

  
  


The cheering that erupted from the villagers was _deafening._ Their exuberance was almost _overwhelming_ as they all gathered around Zacharias and lifted them up, celebrating the miller's ingenuity and magical skill.

Zacharias- surprisingly- wasn't as cheeky or confidently smug as the specter expected, but actually seemed rather... well, _surprised,_ and genuinely happy to have helped.

  
  


For a brief moment, the Snatcher and the miller looked at one another.

  
  


Zacharias grinned, holding their hands behind their head as their confident, cheeky personality overtook their surprise.

Filled with relief and amused to no end by the miller's response to the villager's ebullience, the Snatcher let his elation be known with one loud, booming laugh.

  
  


_**“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”** _

  
  


**After so many years of fighting and fearing the former queen, _Vanessa's reign of terror upon Subcon Forest had come to an end._**


	28. Allegro Vivace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you don't need a reason to have a little fun. But it's always nice when a reason suddenly shows up.

* * *

**Fourteen Years Later...**

* * *

  
  


Scuttling interrupted the peaceful silence of the dread forest of Subcon.

  
  


Across the ground crawled a giant spider, their fangs dripping venom as they quickly closed in on the village. The arachnid stopped just a few feet away, stealthily positioning itself behind the trees nearby. Their eyes locked onto their target: a masked, serpentine spirit playing with a small fox toy.

The spider _hissed,_ skittering across the ground as they headed straight for the spirit.

Something whizzed through the air, over the child's head, into the treeline, and-

  
  


_**Thunk!** _

  
  


The spider **screeched** as an arrow embedded itself _**right in the middle of the creature's head.**_ Their legs curled up as the arachnid fell onto their back and burst into nothingness, leaving the arrow behind on the ground.

Alexis turned towards the treeline, confused by the sudden screeching sound.

Descending from the trees above, Frederick approached the masked spirit and gently placed a hand on the child's head.

“Alexis, why don't you go play with the other children, for a little while?” the teacher happily suggested. “I hear that they're all helping Ophelia bake a lovely cake!”

Excited by the prospect of cake, little Alexis flipped into the air with Feni wrapped in her tail, and darted off to Ophelia's bakery to join in the baking session.

Frederick chuckled and shook his head, before floating into the treeline to pick up the arrow. He turned back around and re-entered the village, just in time to meet with Raymond, who had a clear smile on their face and their longbow in their hands.

“Excellent shot, Raymond!” Frederick complimented them, holding the arrow out for his fellow schoolteacher.

“Why, thank you, Frederick!” Raymond replied, taking the arrow from the scientist and placing it in the quiver on their back. “I'd say I'm getting better at this, don't you think?”

“Definitely,” Frederick agreed. He soon paused and nervously rubbed his hands. “Although I must admit, for a second, I was afraid you'd _miss.”_

Raymond pat Frederick on the back and gave him a wide grin. “Oh, there's no need to worry,” they told him. They straightened their ghostly back and furrowed their ghostly brow, their expression shifting to one that would commonly be seen on the face of a soldier. “So long as Professor Raymond is on patrol, no arachnid will get even a _foot_ near the village!”

A laugh escaped Frederick, before he mimicked Raymond's stance and stern face. “And with Professor Frederick aiding him, they won't get within a _mile!”_

… After a few seconds, they both chuckled and let their faces relax. The two rose up to the leafy branches surrounding the village to resume their patrol.

  
  


“Since you already shot a spider, Professor Raymond, I think _I_ should have the honor of getting the next one!”

“Well, by all means, Professor Frederick, you may have the honor of slaying the next _vile bug_ that dares to intrude upon our peaceful village!”

* * *

Subcon Village was filled with life- an unusual contrast to the ghostly states of its deceased inhabitants. The spirits of the forest were engaged in spirited conversation, chatting to one another as they went about their daily jobs. The children helped Ophelia with baking a wonderful strawberry cake, Julio was tending to the small, fiery trees that now grew around his home, Diana and Clarissa chatted away while the smithy fixed the woodcutter's axe, and Anne could be seen dumping a large bucket of water over Zacharias' head- revenge for the miller having pulled the same prank on her, just a few minutes prior.

  
  


Ever since the barrier was put up in front of the path to _her_ manor, the haunting air of the forest seemed to become much, _much_ lighter. In fact, _everyone_ was in much lighter spirits than ever before, too! The past fourteen years knew nothing but joy, and all of the ghosts of the former kingdom of Subcon spent their afterlives cheerfully trading with other countries and having fun.

The Snatcher enjoyed the relative peace, taking his time with checking on the parts of the forest he didn't often frequent just to see if anything had changed, and spending his days with a good book or two.

Of course, every once in a while, the entire village would travel out of the forest to neighboring countries whenever he was called for a meeting.

  
  


Call it a slight paranoia, but even though _Vanessa_ couldn't enter the rest of the forest, anymore- and even though there was a peace treaty between Subcon Forest and Isaic's desert kingdom- he still didn't feel comfortable about leaving his people alone in the forest without their ruler.

A sentiment that the other villagers shared; the children _especially_ so.

  
  


Worry aside, he enjoyed exploring the other countries with his people and seeing the sights. A change in scenery was good for a person, every so often. Not to mention that there were _quite_ a lot of things to see, in the other countries.

Why, just in the canyon outside of Subcon Forest, the ingenious owls were working on an invention that would _revolutionize_ the way people traveled throughout the land!

Raymond and Julio had to pull Frederick away from the owls; they would have all been stuck there for _hours,_ otherwise.

  
  


Though they had many happy times and traveled to many places, the villagers of Subcon Forest still had the _occasional_ rough patch to work through. Aside from the spiders, every once in a rare while, there would be an argument between some of the ghostly inhabitants of the forest.

No family is _perfect,_ after all; the rare spat was _bound_ to happen, eventually.

But they would talk things out and resolve their problems, and end up growing closer, as a result.

Besides, the rare spat over some small thing- like how Zacharias borrowed a flask from Frederick without asking, or one of the children yelling about how Chris poured honey over them- was _far better_ than any tense, stressful fight about something like how to deal with the swamp, the spiders, or _Vanessa._

  
  


Speaking of the spiders, Julio's solution to the rapidly-growing population of the annoying arachnids was coming along well! The carnivorous plants the gardener was raising were growing _faster_ than anyone expected- the reason why was anyone's guess, though Frederick speculated it _might_ be due to the current state of the forest.

Whatever the reason, the plants were growing bigger with each new seed that was planted.

“I'll bet that in at least ten years from now, these wonderful plants will be large enough to consume those pesky spiders,” Julio had guessed. “Although our glowing cultivar will need a bit more time to adapt; for some reason, they'll only grow on _dead wood!”_

Despite the odd peculiarities with the glowing plants, the progress with the cultivars showed great promise in lowering the _obscenely-high_ numbers of the eight-legged nuisances.

  
  


_It seemed like, as the years progressed, things were only getting better and better..._

* * *

_“Zacharias, stop it!”_

“Sorry, Jojo, but I'm _legally obligated_ to annoy you, right now!”

  
  


Zacharias held Joseph in a headlock, and messed his hair up with a fist.

The Snatcher sighed, closing the book he had been- up until now- _peacefully_ reading.

  
  


_Some things never changed..._

  
  


**“That's enough, you two,”** he sighed, unamused by their antics.

“Oh, relax, Snatcher!” Zacharias gave him a cheeky grin as he held poor, flailing Joseph in the headlock. “We're just having some fun! Right, Joseph?”

“Get them off! _Get them off!”_ Joseph helplessly pleaded.

Before the phantom could do anything to save Joseph from Zacharias' headlock, a sudden yell came from the maned ghost's right.

  
  


_“BIG SISTER TIME!!!”_

  
  


A blur sped into his vision as Anne suddenly tackled the quarreling ghosts, knocking them both over onto the ground.

All the Snatcher could do was stare, his mouth a thin line as he watched the three ghosts get into a three-person wrestling match.

  
  


“Guys, leave me out of this-!”

“Anne, let go of my tail!”

“I AM THE QUEEN OF FIGHTING!”

He slowly held his face in his hand.

_“Hey!_ That's my hair!”

“My arm does _not_ feel comfortable being held _that far back!”_

“Relax, you can't feel pain anymore, right?”

_“IT'S STILL UNCOMFORTABLE, ANNE!”_

Shaking his head, the maned ghost floated over to the three fighting spirits. With his hands, he pried Joseph and Zacharias free from the fight, leaving Anne a heap on the ground.

**“Anne, I thought you were supposed to be the _older_ sister,”** he calmly remarked.

“I am!” she replied, floating back up. “Big sisters are supposed to break up fights by _joining in_ the fight!”

  
  


His expression shifted from exasperated to a completely _dumbfounded_ pokerface.

  
  


**“Anne, that's... _not_ how you break up a fight,”** the specter quietly revealed.

“It always worked for me!” The cobbler flashed him a big, cheerful smile and gave him a thumbs-up.

  
  


_… He didn't know how to respond to that, at all._

  
  


Instead, he sighed and set the miller and clockmaker down. **“As for you, Zacharias, stop picking on Joseph,”** he coolly scolded.

“Man, I never get to do _anything_ fun,” Zacharias grumbled.

 **“You got to throw potions at a bunch of spiders _just last week!”_** the Snatcher reminded him.

“... Let me rephrase that-”

The phantom crossed his arms and frowned slightly. The disappointed look on his face was enough to quiet the miller.

“Right, got it, 'clean out the outhouse',” Zacharias muttered, hunching over as he floated off towards some unusual, gigantic pipes near the bridge.

Joseph rubbed at his ghostly neck, sighing in relief as he glanced up at the specter. “Thanks, Snatcher,” he quietly said.

Snatcher pat the clockmaker's back and nodded. **“It was no problem, at all,”** the inky ghost replied.

Anne floated up, huffing as her ghostly brow furrowed in indignance. “What about me? I helped!”

The Snatcher's sights lowered to Anne as he gently held her shoulder. **“As for you, Anne-”**

“Yeeeeeeees?” she asked, an excited grin forming on her face.

 **“- go help Zacharias clean the outhouse,”** he finished.

Anne's eyes grew wide as saucers as her jaw dropped. “WHAT!?” she cried, shocked by the sudden punishment.

**“You know that fighting is _not_ allowed. Go on, hurry up.”**

  
  


Once more, the cobbler huffed, sulking as she slowly floated after Zacharias.

  
  


The Snatcher raised a hand up to hold his forehead. **“Sometimes, it feels like I'm acting more like their _dad_ than their brother,”** he mumbled.

Sheepishly, Joseph flew up and pat the maned ghost's shoulder. “It's hard, isn't it?”

**“It really is...”**

  
  


Joseph's apologetic smile soon dissolved into an expression of sheer horror. “The pocket watch! I forgot I was supposed to be _fixing_ that-”

Before the taller ghost could question the clockmaker any further, the smaller ghost darted off into the distance. “I'll see you later, Snatcher!” Joseph called back.

The Snatcher blinked in surprise, before managing a small smile and shaking his head. He turned back to his book, then frowned slightly.

He didn't feel much like reading, anymore...

With a snap of his talon-like fingers, the specter sent the book back to the bookshelf in his tree home, before sitting back down on the stump he was on and raising a hand to his nonexistent chin.

  
  


What to do...

_Perhaps..._

  
  


Another snap of his talons brought his violin and bow to his hands.

* * *

He had taken to practicing with his violin, every so often. The wonderful strings of the instrument always produced an _expressive,_ **powerful,** _**deep**_ sound with each draw of the bow across them- these qualities had _immediately_ attracted him to this specific violin, when he was searching for a violin for himself. It wasn't pristine, or perfect in appearance; there were tool marks still on it, and it seemed more like it had been rushed to be made. And yet, its rough appearance held such a _spectacular_ sound!

  
  


Appearances can be deceiving, after all.

  
  


If only he could get his old cello back, as well. He forgot to summon that from the manor, when he discovered his ability to make things appear from other places. He got his books, his violin, his parchment, quills, inkwells...

_Everything but that cello._

When he _did_ remember, he had tried to summon it to his side, but found that- for some reason- _it wouldn't appear._ It was... odd, to say the least. But after a few more attempts, he gave up completely.

_Perhaps one day, he'd find it again..._

* * *

Shaking his head, the specter shape-shifted into his humanoid form- he didn't need to worry about _her_ anymore, after all- and gently began tuning his violin, drawing his bow across the strings and turning the pegs every so often to adjust the pitch. Once his violin was properly tuned, he tested the strings with a simple tune.

A hum of satisfaction emanated from him, before he closed his eyes and rested his chin on the back of his hand.

  
  


_What to play..._

  
  


All around him, the villagers went about their days as normal. Frederick was taking a break from the laboratory to chat with Raymond, Gwendolyn was planning out some foundations for new towers, Clarissa was at an easel, painting confidently as she chatted with William, who was popping small grapes into his mouth...

Some ways away, Diana was sharpening weapons on their grindstone. The blacksmith's tail pressed the pedal with a steady beat, keeping the stone turning as they pressed the edges of their sword against the spinning wheel.

The human specter opened his eyes, listening closely to the constant beat. His brow raised up curiously, yet thoughtfully. Slowly, he began tapping his own foot along to the same beat.

  
  


_Six-eight time..._

Diana blinked as the sound of a violin reached their nonexistent ears. They glanced off to their right, spotting the human ghost sitting on a stump and fiddling a tune. The notes of a jig rang clear as he continued tapping his foot, his eyes closed and a cheerful smile stretching from ear to ear.

  
  


The villagers of Subcon Forest stopped what they were doing to watch and listen.

  
  


Clarissa arched an eyebrow, before a large grin appeared on her face. She placed her brush down and nudged William with her elbow, jerking her head towards the Snatcher's direction. The weaver soon sported a matching grin and nodded, and the two stood up and floated towards the specter.

The human specter's eyes opened as the sound of footsteps suddenly mingled with the notes he played. He was quickly met with the sight of the painter and weaver, both in human form as they danced along to the jig.

Clarissa glanced out of the corner of her eye at the phantom, and flashed him a toothy grin.

Diana stopped pumping the grindstone and set their sword down, while Frederick and Raymond raised their eyebrows at one another and shifted into their human forms. Gwendolyn- despite her usual stoicism- smiled slightly and followed the teachers' leads.

  
  


Within just seconds, all of the adults in the village were shifting into their humanoid forms and joining in the dance!

  
  


Slowly, the specter's surprised expression shifted into a delighted, amused grin as he carried on playing, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

Joseph soon appeared from his home, smiling like a kid in a confectionery as he shifted to join in the crowd.

Zacharias and Anne returned, having finished cleaning out the outhouse. They both glanced at each other once they saw the crowd, then immediately darted off to get cleaned up.

The Snatcher continued with his fiddling, still tapping his foot along to the beat as the sounds of the villagers' dancing filled the air with a steady rhythm.

All of a sudden, Zacharias and Anne flew over to join the crowd, both of them swiftly changing into their human forms. Both the Snatcher and the villagers were surprised as Zacharias landed in the middle of the group, and everyone watched as the miller performed an energetic sean-nós, their feet low to the ground as they danced to the jig.

A _massive_ grin formed on the Snatcher's face. His fangs _gleamed_ as he fiddled energetically.

The villagers all gathered in a circle, clapping their hands to the beat as they hollered and whooped.

Zacharias cracked a proud smile and closed their eyes. Their feet tapped along the ground as they danced about, dancing effortlessly as they hopped about on their toes, boasting as they showed off to the crowd of villagers. The crowd cheered as they finished with a flourish, before the rest of the villagers quickly resumed dancing.

This soon attracted the attention of the children, who flew over to watch as they dancing continued. Every single child stared in awe and pure joy, their tiny beings emanating their excitement and enthrallment. It had been a while since they had seen the adults dance with such _vigor;_ naturally, they were all curious and entranced!

  
  


The human specter couldn't blame them; he suddenly felt a _fire_ in his heart, as though there were a tune _itching_ to be played, and- funnily enough- a need to _move around._

  
  


Eventually, the final notes of the jig came as the Snatcher drew them out, finished the tune with a flourish. The entire village cheered, applauding furiously as the specter took a bow.

He could hear Anne screaming the loudest; her energy knew _no bounds._

... All of a sudden, a sly grin formed on his face as he straightened himself up. Once more, he readied his bow and closed his eyes.

  
  


_Six-eight time, Allegro Vivace..._

  
  


To everyone's surprise, the Snatcher stood up from the stump and belted out another jig. What surprised them even more was the fact that as he started playing, he also started _dancing!_

His feet were low but _flying_ as he tapped them in his own sean-nós, _pouring his soul into the music_ as he fiddled away!

The villagers all shouted with delight, before they all came together and began a céilí dance. People quickly chose partners as they tapped to the jig, dancing around each other and underneath others' arms, and at times holding hands and dancing in a circle!

Aureola soon danced over to the fiddler, smiling as they tapped along to the music. Immediately, the human ghost grinned widely and rapidly tapped along with them, the two side-by-side as they danced around in a circle, and the noble still playing lively.

William's eyes shined as he danced around with Ophelia, Clarissa laughed loudly as she led Anne around, Raymond hopped in place while Horace was passed around, and even Maurice couldn't hold in their joy as they allowed themselves to relax and dance along with Diana. Zacharias danced around with Gwendolyn, gawking as the stone mason displayed her full potential in tapping with ease and grace. Joseph danced around with Selene, the two moving side-to-side before taking the hands of the dancers near them and engaging in a chain, while Julio and Frederick spun around in a circle and tapped away.

The children soon flew overhead, spinning around and flipping in the air as they picked partners, took hold of their tails, and spun around in the best dance they could do, given their serpentine forms. Nonetheless, the silent, cheery laughter of the little ones could be clearly sensed as they took part in the céilí.

The whole group of villagers danced about, passing by one another in a chain, before returning to their partners. Aureola danced by everyone as they followed the music's rhythm, spinning and joining in whenever the villagers would split apart. After a moment, Anthony darted over and wiggled around next to the milliner, spinning as he did his best to dance with them.

Alexis floated down and perched herself on the Snatcher's shoulder. The human specter laughed and kept dancing and fiddling, expertly dancing around while balancing the masked spirit on a shoulder.

He danced rapidly between all of the ghostly villagers, a wide, Cheshire grin stretching all across his face as he rapidly played the song. His feet tapped along as he hopped here and there, a wild, festive look taking hold of his yellow eyes as he moved about, easily following the rhythm of the music. All the while, Alexis was bounced around on his shoulder, only staying on due to wrapping her tail around his neck.

  
  


_He could sense the children laughing; Alexis was the loudest, since she was along for the ride and right next to his head._

  
  


With the final draw of his bow, the jig came to an end. The entire village hooted and cheered as he moved his bow to his other hand, held onto Alexis, took a bow, and laughed merrily.

Julio's hearty laugh soon mingled with the Snatcher's. “Heck, I haven't danced like that in _years!”_ the gardener chuckled.

“I can't believe we haven't danced, more often!” exclaimed Diana.

“Yeah, that was fun!” Selene giggled.

Anthony was hanging upside-down from Aureola's arm. It was clear from the child's joyful air that he had fun dancing.

From the rather decently-sized smile on the hat-maker's face, they clearly had fun dancing around, as well!

  
  


Seeing his family all so happy...

His entire being felt _warm all over._

  
  


_... Wait, what was that he was sensing? Magic?_

  
  


Suddenly, Ophelia gasped and pointed towards the cliff around the village. "Look over there!"

As all of the other ghosts turned to look, they were soon met with a sight they _never_ thought they would see, again.

  
  


Within the treeline up on the cliff, what looked like a fox's head was peering out at them. But not just _any_ fox head; this one was a bright, fiery orange-yellow color all over, and their features were obscured by a glow that was all about them.

  
  


The villagers and the unusual fox stared at each other for a good, long moment.

  
  


Just as quickly as they had arrived, the spirit suddenly ducked behind the tree and _vanished._

  
  


“Good heavens, a Fire Spirit...!” Julio gasped.

All of a sudden, Frederick and Zacharias glanced at each other.

“Does this mean... the Fire Spirits will be coming back?” the miller asked the scientist.

  
  


Everyone turned to Frederick, waiting with bated, nonexistent breath for his answer.

  
  


It wasn't a long wait for them, as the scientist enthusiastically nodded.

“If one of them is here, that means _more_ will come!” was his informative, excited reply. “Which means that the forest _must_ be warm enough for them to make a home, here!”

There was only a split-second of silence before loud cheers _erupted_ from the crowd.

  
  


The Snatcher's senses would have been **deafened** by the noise of both the adults' effervescent roaring and the joyful cries that emanated from the children.

  
  


He was still in shock; there was a _Fire Spirit_ in Subcon Forest, _after so many years!_

If the Fire Spirits were back, that meant that the forest might be getting warmer, and _safer!_ Perhaps not only the _Fire Spirits_ would come back, but maybe, just _maybe,_ this meant that creatures that were thought to be long gone- like the bushcats- _might_ make a reappearance!

He knew that was a long shot, of course. If there were any bushcats in the forest, he would have sensed them. But maybe they somehow escaped the forest, and were surviving _somewhere else!_

Also a long shot, but hey, if the Fire Spirits were returning, _anything_ was possible, right?

  
  


A wild, unusually _rambunctious_ grin was plain on the Snatcher's currently-human face as hope overwhelmed his very being. Perhaps it was from all of the jig music and the dancing, but he felt a _fire_ in his very being that made him want to _dance the night away!_

**“I'd say that's a good cause for celebration!”** the specter boomed, twirling his bow in his hand before grasping it firmly. **“What does everyone think? Another song?”**

A loud, joyous uproar surrounded him as a booming laugh echoed from deep within his being. **“Come on, then! I'm so elated, I could _play for the whole night!”_**

  
  


Loud, energetic notes rang clear from the violin as the ghosts of Subcon Forest danced another céilí, the adults all easily tapping to the rhythm while the children held tails with one another and spun around overhead. Aureola resumed dancing with little Anthony as their partner, while Alexis bounced around on the Snatcher's left shoulder as he _fervently_ and _wildly_ belted out another jig, his grin so huge it threatened to _pop right off_ of his face!

  
  


The sounds of loud, ebullient whooping and yelling echoed throughout the forest, the villager's clapping and laughing easily heard by all of the creatures that lived there. The music drifted quickly throughout the land, mingling with exuberant laughter and cheering as it rang clear, traveling through the trees and penetrating even the icy landscape of Subcon's former kingdom. The merry celebration seemed to bring a new kind of warmth to the chilled landscape, and with it, the promise of an even better future.

  
  


The energetic fiddling and dancing went on late into the night, bringing to Subcon Forest a liveliness that hadn't been _truly_ felt since the forest's transformation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This whole chapter was so much fun to write! Also, for anyone curious, here's a list about some things:
> 
> First of all, I ended up listing some headcanons about Snatcher knowing how to fiddle and dance a jig, and ended up inspiring someone to make art of it, and they ended up inspiring me to add little Alexis sitting on the specter's shoulder while he played and danced! Funny how that works, isn't it?
> 
> Anyway, take a look at the art over here, done by gigilefache over on Tumblr:
> 
> https://gigilefache.tumblr.com/post/640862838547693569/based-on-some-cute-headcanons-made-in-the-a-fan-in?is_highlighted_post=1
> 
> Secondly, I imagine Snatcher's violin to sound like Guadagnini's 1785 violin, which you can hear being played in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5pZ8eXfIYs
> 
> Thirdly, the first song he played is called "Jackson's Jig", which you can hear in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lN40f_aqy0
> 
> The second song he played is "Coleraine Jig", which you'll hear in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EeAlsZ9WsMM
> 
> The third song he started playing at the end is "Swallowtail Jig", which you'll hear here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3_4RCleUlc
> 
> Now, the dances that he and the villagers do are known as sean nós (pronounced SHAN-ohss) and céilí (pronounced KAY-lee), which are traditional Irish dances. 
> 
> The sean nós dance is like stepdancing, but is more freeform and allows for personal style in the dance. It's much more relaxed and casual than stepdancing. You can see a good example of it (and how Zacharias was dancing) here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUMegSdM91w
> 
> And here's another excellent example of the sean nós dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmIYbs6Jico
> 
> Finally, the céilí dance is a type of folk dance that is done with a group of people. There are certain types of jigs that actually have specific céilí dances that partners dance along with the music. You can see a good example of a céilí dance here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O55qzuTvGiQ
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!)


	29. Torturous Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time may heal all wounds and cause bad memories to fade, but some memories are so painful, they never cease in haunting a person.

The metallic clang of a smithy's hammer rang all through the village of Subcon. A steady rhythm, only stopping every so often, before picking right back up and filling the tree-stump village with the sound of metal striking metal.

Some of the children gathered near the blacksmith's forge, peering curiously through the various cracks in the bark that served as natural windows. They observed, entranced by the sight of metal being forged and shaped.

Inside of the forge, toiling away at a piece of metal on a stake was the ruler of Subcon Forest. The Snatcher- in human form and sporting a blacksmith's apron- held the metal sheet in place with tongs as he carefully refined the shape of the sheet. Each strike of the planishing hammer further refined the armor into the perfect shape. Precision was needed for the job; he couldn't afford to make _any_ mistakes.

“Gentle, now,” Diana told him, their arms crossed as they oversaw his work. “You need to be gentle when you're planishing.”

He lightened his strikes, _painstakingly_ shaping the metal further, before he finally grinned and lifted up the metal. **“Like that?”**

The smithy floated over, taking the tongs from the specter as they examined the vambrace.

“That's it,” they hummed, a smile forming on their spectral face as they turned the tongs and looked at the inside. “Excellent curving, smooth...” They directed their gaze towards him. “A good piece of a vambrace!”

The human specter _beamed,_ proud of his work, before he set the hammer down. **“I've gotten a lot better since I started, haven't I?”** he couldn't help but boast.

“Aye, you have.” Diana gently pat the specter on the shoulder, their eyes gleaming with pride. “Keep this up, and you'll be better than me at forging armor, one day.”

  
  


The very thought that he might become a better armourer than _Diana_ seemed _impossible_ to fathom.

  
  


**“I doubt that I could ever be a good as you, Diana,”** he quickly argued, “I mean, you know so much about forging weapons and armor!”

The human ghost motioned to himself. **“I'm just a- well, a ghost of a prince.”**

Diana's ocean blue eyes locked onto his yellow ones as they set the tongs down and placed both of their hands on his shoulders.

“You listen to me, Snatcher,” the blacksmith ordered him, their tone serious and resolved, “I will teach you _all that I know_ about being a blacksmith, whitesmith, weaponsmith, goldsmith, silversmith-”

Their stern, resolved gaze lightened when a smile crept onto their face. “I'll teach you _everything._ You're practically my grandson; it's only right that I teach you everything I know.”

The Snatcher's face sported a rather surprised expression, but only for a few seconds. A fanged smile spread across his face as he pressed his forehead against the smithy's and closed his eyes.

**“Thanks, Diana,”** he mumbled, **“you're the best grandparent I could _ever_ ask for.”**

Diana chuckled and ruffled the human ghost's hair, before pulling away from him. “You're the best grandson I could ever ask for,” they proudly replied. “Now, lad, let's see how you do with the safety edge!”

His eyes shining with joy, the Snatcher grabbed a piece of straight metal and set it down on the anvil. After marking the metal, he lined it up with the edge of the anvil, grabbed a hammer, and carefully bent the metal on the edge.

* * *

It was almost surprising how peaceful Subcon Forest had become.

  
  


Fifteen years ago, the barrier in front of the manor's path had been placed. _Fifteen years ago,_ but it felt like it happened a _lifetime_ ago. They had all grown so used to the peace and safety, it felt like the days of fearing _her_ were but a distant memory.

Though Subcon Forest was still macabre in appearance, it didn't deter traders or the occasional visitor from travelling through the thick, dark forest. Materials and goods were swiftly exchanged with the merchants from other countries, providing the ghostly inhabitants of the haunted forest with new materials to work with, new books to read, games to play, and an _inordinate amount_ of other delights that everyone enjoyed immensely!

In those peaceful days, when he wasn't busy with meetings or greeting visitors or merchants, the Snatcher would enjoy spending time with the villagers and children, enjoying a nice cup of tea with Clarence when they stopped by, and learning more skills in various trades.

Some trades were easier than others; sewing, cobbling, and hat-making were the ones that he seemed to excel in, and he was _already_ growing exceptionally confident in weaving and smithing. Not to say that he _wasn't_ doing well in other trades; he was doing decently well with learning the art of making clocks, and his skills in carpentry and masonry were coming along somewhat well!

Not to mention he made an exceptional scientist, if he did say so, himself.

Gardening was a little bit trickier for him to get the hang of; he had decent experience with it when he was alive, due to Julio's lessons, but it soon became evident that he would need to learn _much more_ than the basics, if he was to help the gardener with tending to the plants around Subcon Forest _and_ the evolving cultivars in the various glass tubes on the tower's upper floor.

Naturally, keeping up with all of this was hard work, but _highly_ rewarding.

And with more help, the ghostly adults were able to produce more goods for the traders that came by!

  
  


There was one trade that he was still having some trouble with, however...

* * *

**“I... think I messed up.”** The Snatcher sighed as he slowly held up a dop with a slightly-off briolette cut topaz.

Now, he had some experience with faceting gemstones, before he died, but the more complicated cuts had _always_ given the specter trouble. In fact, he _still_ struggled with the more advanced and complicated cuts. The briolette cut was no exception; even now, over forty years or so after the death of Subcon Kingdom, he couldn't properly facet the cut, no matter how hard he worked at the lap!

Maurice glided over, one arm behind their back as they peered through their loupe to examine the gem.

“You've faceted one side shorter than the other,” confirmed the lapidarist.

They jumped as the Snatcher groaned and let his currently-human head fall against the lap with a thunk. The wheel slowly spun to a stop, dragging some of his hair along in the process.

“Snatcher!” the jeweler cried in shock, “I know we're ghosts, but _please_ don't rest your head on the lap!”

Lifting his head back up, the royal ghost pushed his hair out of his face and gazed forlornly at Maurice.

 **“I'm sorry, I just-”** he sighed, shaking his head and holding his temple with his free hand. **“I don't know _how_ you can facet a gem into _such a difficult cut!”_** he exclaimed, exasperated beyond belief.

Placing the loupe down on a nearby table, Maurice gently pat the human ghost's shoulder. “I know it feels nearly-impossible,” consoled the gemcutter, “but you only need more practice.”

The human specter sighed. **“I know that, but it feels like I've been practicing for _so long,_ and yet-”** He scowled as he stared at the imperfect briolette, holding up his empty hand and clenching it tightly as he grit his teeth. **“- I can't get it right!”**

A heavy sigh escaped the lapidarist as they removed their hand from his shoulder.

“While it's always good to strive for the perfect cut, you shouldn't expect to get it right _immediately_ with a specific gem,” Maurice mentioned. They slowly wrung their hands as they glanced to the side. “Besides, you don't want to get _too_ caught-up in getting the cut right.”

**“You _always_ fret over getting the cut right,”** he mumbled.

“Well, yes,” they acknowledged, “but that's because I _wasn't_ so good at faceting and cutting, back when I was your age.”

The human ghost's eyes widened as his expression shifted from frustration to surprise.

Maurice reached up to their neck to tug at the cravat that was no longer there, and quickly remembered that fact a second later. “I had much trouble faceting gems correctly,” they began, lowering their hand back down and netting their fingers together. “My inability to get the faceting right on gems _consumed me;_ I was _obsessed_ with cutting each gem perfectly! I spent months practicing, polishing, fretting...”

They turned away, hanging their head as they held a hand over their chest. “I practiced so much, I became the _best_ lapidarist and gemcutter in all of the kingdom! But...”

Sighing, they lifted their head and turned back around, smiling sadly at the specter. “... But that didn't come without consequence; I became the 'picky old codger'- as Diana so endearingly puts it- that you see, today. I let perfecting my craft get the better of me, and now, I have a difficult time letting even a _slight_ imperfection go.”

As the Snatcher gaped at the jeweler, they floated over and pat his shoulder again, their amethyst eyes reflecting the sadness and regret they held.

“I'm not saying you shouldn't _try_ to get a perfect cut,” Maurice explained. “What I'm saying is, _don't let perfectionism consume you like it did me._ I'd hate to see you become as picky as I am!”

  
  


Slowly, he closed his mouth, his expression relaxing as he gave the lapidarist a grateful smile.

  
  


Maurice tapped the side of their nose and glanced at the topaz. “Although... it probably wouldn't hurt to make the uneven side a _bit_ less noticeable,” they couldn't help but point out.

The Snatcher laughed slightly, getting the lap spinning once more. **“You're right,”** he agreed, taking hold of the dop as he gently held the uneven briolette against the stone.

  
  


It took him a good deal of time just to smooth down the gem and facet it again, but by the time he was done, the topaz looked _far_ more symmetrical- and the light reflected off the faceted, teardrop-shaped gem _brilliantly,_ to boot!

**“I think this is it!”** the specter announced, holding the dop up as the lap gradually slowed to a halt.

“Let's see...” Maurice picked the loupe up from the table and gently took the dop with the other. The ghostly lapidarist held the loupe up to their eye and carefully examined the topaz, turning it every so often to scan over every facet.

After a good minute of squinting, the jeweler smiled and lowered their loupe.

**“How did I do?”** the Snatcher anxiously inquired.

“Only off by a slight hair, with one side,” Maurice informed him.

**“Ah, I can fix that-”**

“No need to!” Maurice carefully placed the dop down on the dop rack and put their loupe away. “I'd say this topaz is ready for a necklace.”

Slowly, the Snatcher's face sported a smile as the lapidarist pat him on the back.

“Sometimes, a _very slightly_ imperfect cut is _just_ as beautiful as a perfect one,” they stated, before rubbing the back of their neck. “Perhaps I should take heed of that bit of wisdom, myself. Not with my gems, of course, but with- ah...”

They smiled sheepishly, mumbling slightly. “... Well, with how I am, outside of my work,” the jeweler finished saying.

It was the human specter's turn to put a hand on Maurice's shoulder. **“Whether you do or don't, you still make a _magnificent_ great-entle,”** he assured them.

Maurice chuckled and nodded. “Ah, I suppose I do, don't I?” they mused, beaming at the noble ghost's words.

The Snatcher grinned, clasping his hands together as he reached for a new dop. **“I think I'll try a different cut, for this next-”**

His hand stopped inches away from the dop rack.

  
  


Something **rang** in his senses; an alarm he hadn't sensed so **strongly** in _**years.**_

  
His yellow eyes grew _massive._

  
  


“Snatcher, what is it?” Maurice asked, panic causing their tone to rise.

  
_The frozen village, just outside of the path._

  
  


If there had been any color in his already-pale face, _it would have drained from it instantly._

  
  


**“Maurice, warn the village,”** he suddenly commanded, his tone low and urgent, **“get them all to the well.”**

Without warning, the human specter changed back to his ghostly form and darted out of the lapidarist's home, leaving Maurice to rush outside and head for the bell above Julio's home.

The Snatcher sped out of the village and over the bridge, his clawed fingers curling towards his palms as he flexed them out of nervousness. His glowing yellow eyes stared straight ahead of him, unable to tear their gaze off of the presence that loomed in his senses.

  
  


If he still had a heart, it would have _stopped._

If he still had blood, it would have _run cold._

_One look confirmed what he had hoped wasn't true._

  
  


_Pure darkness_ drifted out from in front of the path, emanating from a pitch-black form. _Piercing red eyes_ **glared** at him from within the darkness, **penetrating** him with _**pure and utter hatred.**_

 _“Sealing me off from **my** forest, how **dare** you!”_ she shrieked, **outraged** and **furious** at the specter.

  
  


_Vanessa somehow got past the barrier._

**How!?**

  
  


_“I'll make you and those traitors **pay** for this treacherous crime!”_ she howled, icy spikes forming at her feet.

  
  


His shock was quickly replaced with **rage** as blue flames sparked to life in his hands.

**“I don't know how you got past that barrier,”** he snarled, _**“but you should have stayed behind it.”**_

* * *

_They could all feel the ground shaking from the countless explosions that erupted in the distance._

  
  


The villagers of Subcon Forest once more found themselves at the bottom of the well, all grouped together around the children. The adults comforted the children the best they could, hiding their own fear as they attempted to quell the hushed sobs of the masked spirits. Diana was floating between the rest of the ghosts and the well's entrance, grasping their sword tightly in their hand as they stood- _floated,_ rather- guard, ready to strike down _any_ threat that dared approach.

Aside from the crying children and the adults- mostly Ophelia, Joseph, and Aureola- that attempted to soothe them, everyone was quiet. Even _Anne_ didn't make a single noise; a disturbing contrast to her usual, energetic personality.

They had all heard the distant screech of the _ice witch;_ they _knew_ she had somehow gotten through the barrier.

The thought weighed heavy on all of their minds.

The one who was plagued the most by that realization, however, was Zacharias.

They couldn't understand how she managed to get through the barrier, when she couldn't get through it, before! The miller had _thought_ that the barrier would prevent her from getting through the path, but _somehow,_ she found a way around it!

Guilt knotted their nonexistent stomach. They thought that everyone was _safe,_ now, but the barrier had somehow _failed!_ But why now? Why would it fail _now,_ and why _did_ it fail!?

Zacharias glanced around at the frightened and solemn faces of their fellow villagers. Worried brows, fright-filled eyes, some fighting back tears for the sake of the children...

The miller screwed their eyes shut, their face contorting in frustration, anger, and guilt.

They had failed, somehow. Now, the Snatcher once again had to fight _Vanessa,_ all because the stupid barrier magic had _failed!_

Now everyone was scared. Their ruler would get hurt again, and it was all because the magic that the miller had used _failed._

  
  


They enjoyed being the cool troublemaker of the village; being laid-back and having fun. But- _just once-_ they wanted to actually _help_ instead of causing trouble...

And yet, _trouble came bursting through the door anyway._ Without so much as _knocking_ first, no less.

Gradually, Zacharias opened their eyes, anger and scorn flickering to life in the wisteria ovals. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking at them, they slipped away from the group and floated off to an adjoining cave. Pulling out the tome they received from the Alpine Skyline, the miller rapidly flipped through the pages.

“There _has_ to be a reason why the barrier failed...”

* * *

... Okay, he'll admit that he was a _bit_ out of practice with his powers.

  
  


The inky specter and the frigid queen battled **vehemently** with one another, both unleashing their powers against one another in a whirling battle of fire and ice. Both combatants had landed blows on one another; the maned ghost took _great delight_ in **blasting** the queen into one of the frozen trees, but _growled_ **furiously** whenever some of the queen's **accursed** ice managed to cover some part of him.

He didn't need to worry, however; any bits of ice that he didn't break off melted off by itself, after a while.

The specter wasn't sure how that worked, but he wasn't going to complain.

He took advantage of the shock waves that spread out whenever he popped up from the ground, using them to knock the queen back, and the fire and lasers allowed him to force back all of the frigid ice she sent his way.

  
  


_He needed to end this fight soon;_ he had to make sure she was sent _packing_ back to the manor-

  
  


Vanessa emitted a distorted, banshee-like _shriek_ of **rage.**

Massive pillars of ice **erupted** from the ground as an unnatural, _chilling_ cold **tore** through his spectral being.

Terror _**struck him to his core**_ as he darted out of the way.

  
  


_The next thing he knew, he felt cold underneath him, and_ **stabbing needles** _in his tail._

  
  


The Snatcher pushed himself up from the snow-covered ground, groaning and wincing as he glanced back at his tail.

  
  


He _froze,_ his glowing eyes widening in _pure horror._

  
  


The ghost's lower half was **covered in thick ice.**

  
  


_**It hurt.** _

  
  


He turned his horrified gaze to the darkness-emanating queen, who was _quickly approaching him._

  
  


_No._

  
  


_“TELL ME WHERE MY PRINCE IS!”_ she furiously screamed.

The ice witch reached out to him with a gnarled hand as she closed the distance between them.

His eyes became _pinpricks._

  
  


_Time slowed down._

He remembered this cold fury, **shredding** all who dared approach to bits. The image of _her face_ during their fights was _forever hewn into his mind;_ he could _easily_ recognize when she would blow up about one thing or another the _second_ he saw that expression.

_He could see it now, even with her face obscured by darkness and only two glowing orbs for her eyes._

He was _terrified_ of that expression.

_He_ **dreaded** _it._

**That expression meant years of pain, anguish, suffering.**

_He didn't want to go back there._

_He didn't want her_ **anywhere** _near him._

  
  


**Get away.**

  
  


_**Get away.** _

She grew **closer.**

**He panicked.**

  
  


_**“DON'T TOUCH ME!”** _

  
  


The ground **shuddered** as beam after beam of energy rapidly shot from the earth in a line, sending the ice queen high into the air.

The ice melted off of his tail as he scrambled away from the icy stalagmites that had pinned him down. Fear called upon him to act as he flew back up into the air, his terror quickly mixing with fury.

Vanessa fell back into the snow.

More beams **burst** from the ground, sending the former queen back down the path. The Snatcher didn't notice how these rapid beams were different in color from the usual ones he used; he was **furious** and **frantic,** erratically launching more and more beams towards her on instinct.

_All that he cared about was sending her back into the manor._

Vanessa was disoriented and dazed after each eruption, unable to move quickly enough to avoid the blasts. She _screeched_ and _shrieked_ as she was flung further and further back, quickly losing ground as the specter bolted through the air and _desperately_ barraged her with the unusual bursts of energy.

  
  


All he could do was _scream._

  
  


_**“DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH ME, AGAIN!”** _

  
  


One final shockwave was all it took to force the ice witch back inside the _accursed_ manor.

Snow fell from the top of the porch's roof under the Snatcher's command. Growling like an agitated, frightened animal, the maned ghost **forced** the snow up against the front doors, piling it higher and _higher,_ until the snow nearly reached the stairs.

  
  


_An unsettling silence fell throughout the forest._

  
  


For a moment, all he could do was **glare** at the manor, before turning to leave. His anger soon melted away as he made his way past the path, leaving him shaken as he passed through the snowy terrain.

He made it as far as the bridge, before he fell onto his tail, hunching over as trepidation swiftly spread throughout his ghostly form.

* * *

_The cellar._

_Those horrible chains...!_

  
  


The _biting cold_ of metal shackles that **dug** into his wrists, the tight links that **pressed** his body against the _cold stone walls..._

He was only held up by a pair of shackles, at first. The chains were slowly giving in from his weight; a small hope of potential freedom.

  
  


That, too, was stolen by _her._

  
  


The moment _she_ spotted the giving chains, she added more and _more,_ pulling them **taut** against his body until he could _barely breathe,_ adding the _ball and chain_ to his leg for good measure...

  
  


He **begged** her to stop. The chains hurt _**so much.**_

  
  


She pulled them _**tighter.**_

  
  


He was left alone in the cellar like that for _so long..._

  
  


_All he felt was the cold, now._

  
  


_Biting cold._ **Unfeeling** _cold._ _Cold that_ **seeped into the skin _and crept its way into the heart._**

  
  


**That was Vanessa's heart; _ice-cold_ and _chilling to the core._**

  
  


He didn't want to feel her _frigid fury,_ anymore.

He didn't want to feel the unnatural cold that _dug_ into his body **ruthlessly** and _**relentlessly,**_ anymore.

He wanted to feel the sunlight, the warmth that filled Subcon Forest on a pleasant day in the spring and summer, the life _teeming_ amidst the trees and buildings of the kingdom alike.

  
  


Tears streamed down from his face and dripped onto the cellar floor.

Eventually, the cellar was flooded; whether by his tears alone or from some other source, he didn't know. He had been too absorbed in memories, unable to do anything else but _painfully reminisce_ about better days with his beloved queen.

  
  


_How he had spent so many_ wonderful _days in the village with Vanessa, laughing and chatting with the villagers and telling the children stories, enjoying the festival together, the_ magnificent _sounds of piano and violin filling the manor as they played together, and how they had both spent_ so much time _designing the nursery for the baby they would have once they were married..._

But he also remembered the ban on bacon she enacted, the time she **cut and dyed his hair,** that faint smile she had tried to hide when he learned that his horse had **somehow escaped the stables** and **fallen into the chasm** between the village and the rest of the forest, how she said she _**never wanted him to leave the manor,**_ and how she'd get jealous of _**how much he loved the moon...**_

  
  


His body was _wracked_ with grief. His mind **howled** with rage.

_His heart was filled with_ sorrow. **His soul was filled with _fury._**

  
  


The prince was _**torn;**_ _heartbroken and distraught,_ yet **enraged** from the **soul-crushing** revelation of Vanessa's true nature.

  
  


Those conflicting thoughts _were the last he had,_ **before his consciousness and life** _**faded away into the darkness.**_

  
  


_**Everything was cold.** _

* * *

_Someone was saying his name._

_Who?_

_Where was he?_

  
  


Slowly, the Snatcher's senses returned as he became aware of his surroundings. The trembling specter blinked rapidly as his eyes wandered from the glowing mushrooms above him, to the grandfather clock ticking away nearby, to the worried faces of the ghostly villagers that hovered in front of him.

His fanged mouth was turned down into a shaky frown as he focused his gaze on the villagers.

  
  


Seeing them helped anchor him back to reality.

  
  


_He wasn't in the cellar._

_He was in his home in the forest._

  
  


“Snatcher?”

  
  


Ophelia was holding his shoulder. Her tone was _fraught_ with worry.

  
  


He let out a shaky breath. **“Y-Yeah?”** he finally said, gripping the armrests of his chair as he sat up straight.

  
  


The faces of all of the ghosts were _flooded_ with relief.

  
  


“What happened?” Frederick asked him.

The inky ghost paused, unsure what to say for a few seconds. **“She's back in the manor,”** he finally told them. **“Everything's fine, now.”**

  
  


The villagers murmured to one another, their concerns once more resurfacing.

  
  


Ophelia frowned deeply. “Are you okay?” she quickly inquired. “We found you on the bridge. You wouldn't respond to _anything_ we said!”

  
  


_... That's right; that's where he had been. Did he black out?_

  
  


**“I'm... I'm okay,”** he assured them, his trembling dying down gradually. **“I... I don't know how _she_ got through the-”**

“We'll worry about that, later,” Diana suddenly interrupted. “Take a moment to calm down.”

He blinked in surprise, not expecting that response.

**“But-”**

“Zacharias is looking into it,” Frederick told the maned ghost. “Just relax. Perhaps take a nap, for a bit.”

  
  


...

Slowly, the Snatcher laid back in his chair.

**“Will you-”**

“We're already keeping watch, Snatcher,” Ophelia soothed him. “Please, don't push yourself.”

After opening and closing his glowing mouth a few times, the mentally-exhausted phantom sighed and nodded. **“All right, I'll... I'll try resting, for a bit.”** he finally conceded.

  
  


As he laid his head back and closed his eyes, and sensed the villagers gradually filtering out of his home, the still-shaken specter wondered what would await him when he woke up.


	30. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience is a virtue.

When he woke up, he felt slightly better. But _only_ slightly.

  
  


It took the Snatcher a few moments of blearily blinking and floating around his tree home, before the events from earlier that day resurfaced. Once they did, however, he couldn't help but shudder slightly.

  
  


How could _she_ have gotten through the barrier? The barrier had definitely worked, before! Why would it fail, now!?

  
  


His mane gently drifted about as he held his forehead and shook his head. His eyes fell upon the grandfather clock, his gaze focusing on the time.

  
  


_Nine forty-five at night._

  
  


If he wanted an answer to his questions, he'd have to ask them now, before everyone went to bed.

Gliding down the path, the specter of the forest made his way to Subcon Village- and, fortunately, found most of the adults were in their homes or sleeping.

Relief filled him _instantly;_ he was in a hurry to see _one specific person,_ and he didn't want to stop to reassure everyone that he was fine.

Floating past tree-stump home after tree-stump home, the phantom finally stopped in front of one of the stumps. He sighed, before raising his hand to lightly rap on the door.

  
  


_“I'm busy!”_ came a muffled voice from inside.

  
  


He blinked in surprise. **“Zacharias, it's me,”** the Snatcher softly announced.

About two seconds later, the inky ghost jolted back as the door suddenly flung wide open.

The red, spectral form of the miller was in the doorway, sporting a wide wisteria grin as they spotted the maned ghost.

“Boss! You finally snapped out of it!” Zacharias cried.

He smiled and nodded. **“I only took a small nap,”** the inky spirit admitted. He soon furrowed his nonexistent brow as his smile faltered. **“How is your research coming along?”** the specter inquired. **“Have you found anything?”**

Zacharias' grin twitched slightly, before their brow furrowed upwards. “I'm... still figuring out what went wrong,” the miller quietly disclosed to him, “but I'm getting close to an answer, and possibly even a solution!”

**“Excellent!”** He clasped his hands together, hope filling his very soul. **“What do you have, so far? Perhaps I can help!”**

  
  


All of a sudden, Zacharias' grin fell.

  
  


“Boss, you've... gone through enough stress today, haven't you?” the miller suddenly asked him. “You should probably get some sleep.”

  
  


The Snatcher's smiled vanished.

That was... an _odd_ response from them...

  
  


**“I'm really fine,”** he argued, **“I don't mind helping-”**

  
  


Without any warning, Zacharias placed a hand on the specter's shoulder, their grin returning.

“Snatcher, _I've got this,”_ they confidently assured him. “I'll tell you everything, tomorrow.”

  
  


There was something _slightly off_ about the miller's confident expression, but he was having trouble putting a finger on what it was...

  
  


Nonetheless, he managed a smile and gently pat Zacharias' shoulder. **“You've really become responsible, these past forty years,”** the Snatcher informed them. **“I'm proud of you. Even if you can't find a solution, I'm proud of you.”**

The oddness of their expression faded as genuine joy sparkled in their eyes. “Thanks, boss. That means a lot to me.”

He removed his hand from their shoulder, smiling kindly at the miller. **“Besides, the last barrier lasted... what, fifteen years, more or less?”** he commented. **“I'd say that's a nice amount of time for a magical barrier to work!”**

Zacharias laughed slightly and crossed their arms. “It's an investment that you have to renew, apparently, but it's worthwhile!”

  
  


The two had a good chuckle, before the specter nodded to the miller.

**“I'll see you tomorrow,”** the Snatcher bade, **“Get some rest, yourself, all right?”**

“Will do!” Zacharias gave him a thumbs-up and flashed one of their confident grins. “Good Night, boss!”

**“Good Night, Zacharias.”**

Rising up into the sky, the phantom of the forest flew back to his massive home.

As they watched him leave, Zacharias' plastered grin vanished, and their eyes grew somber. The red ghost turned in place and floated back inside their tree-stump home, closing the door behind themselves as they went.

* * *

_He couldn't sleep._

  
  


The Snatcher was pacing in mid-air inside of his tree home, a hand holding his forehead as he floated back and forth. His mind _raced_ as his thoughts _bounced around erratically,_ one after the other filling his head with anxiety-inducing what-ifs and fearful realizations and countless other concerns that he _desperately_ tried to process.

  
  


What was he supposed to do? _Vanessa_ was able to break through the barrier! If she could break through, would another barrier work? How would they deal with this? What if Zacharias _couldn't_ find another solution to this problem? Would they be forced to _constantly_ put up barrier after barrier!?

  
  


He groaned, hanging his head and moving his hand down to cover his eyes.

  
  


He thought this was _all behind them._ Now...

  
  


_Someone was outside-_

  
  


He removed his hand from his face, whirling about to gaze down at a small kitsune mask attached to a purple, serpentine body.

**“Susan, what are you doing up?”** he quietly asked the little spirit. **“You should be in bed, by now.”**

Susan darted towards him, wrapping their tail around his hand.

  
  


_I wanted to make sure you're okay!_

  
  


... Oh, _bless her soul._

  
  


**“I'm okay, Susan,”** he reassured her, a faint smile forced onto his face, **“Why don't you head back to bed and get some sleep?”**

Surprisingly, Susan hesitated. Uncertainty seemed to halt her movements as she remained wound around the specter's hand.

A frown appeared on his face.

  
  


_He could sense an air of **fear** hanging about the child._

  
  


**“Susan, what's on your mind?”** the specter inquired, gliding over to his chair and taking a seat.

The masked spirit unwound herself from his fingers and sat down on the maned ghost's lap.

  
  


_I'm scared._

  
  


His frown deepened. _He had a feeling he knew the reason why she was afraid._

**“Because she got out?”** ventured the phantom.

  
  


A small nod from Susan proved his guess correct.

  
  


**“I know that was scary,”** he consoled the child, **“and you must have been _terrified.”_**

  
  


Another nod from the tiny spirit.

  
  


**“But I _promise_ you, _I will never let her hurt you.”_**

  
  


Susan tilted her head back to stare at the inky ghost.

He smiled softly at her and held a hand to his chest. **“You have my word.”**

  
  


She tilted her head to the side, like she was pondering on that, for a moment.

  
  


_I'm still too scared to sleep..._

  
  


Smile faltering slightly, the Snatcher gently pat the child's head with a talon-like finger.

**“Do you want to sleep here, for tonight?”** he asked the little one.

  
  


_Yeah..._

  
  


Gently scooping the child up into his hand, the specter laid back in his chair and held the child against his mane.

**“Good Night, Susan,”** he murmured.

  
  


_Good Night, Snatcher..._

  
  


Susan eventually fell asleep, nestled securely against the specter's chest as he pet their head with a clawed digit. As he held the sleeping child against himself, the maned phantom gazed out the entrance of his tree home and towards the bridge that led to the old village.

  
  


_**What could he do about Vanessa?** _

* * *

The next few days came and went quickly.

  
  


He spent a good deal of his time internally fretting over how they were going to deal with the problem of _Vanessa._ Though he did his best to hide his concerns, the other ghostly adults could tell he was worried.

  
  


Which he was. **Immensely.**

  
  


How could he _not_ be concerned about _her_ breaking through the barrier? He thought they would never have to deal with _her,_ again, and then _she_ just... _broke right through it._

  
  


The thought stuck with him as he wandered about and helped the villagers with various tasks.

As he attempted to keep his mind busy, he realized something odd as he tried to focus his mind on other jobs.

  
  


Zacharias had been in their house, all this time. _Not once_ did they leave it, not even to grind the wheat.

  
  


Yet another concern for the Snatcher.

  
  


“Snatcher.”

  
  


He'll have to talk to them, later.

  
  


_“Snatcher.”_

  
  


_Hopefully they were all right-_

  
  


“Snatcher, I hate to tell you this, but you're missing a few stitches in that buttonhole!”

  
  


Horace's fruity voice snapped the specter out of his fretting. As the Snatcher cast his gaze down to his handiwork, he jolted slightly as he realized he had a few gaps between some of his stitches on a shirt.

**“How did I miss those?”** the specter mumbled, carefully pulling out the stitches he already made.  
  
“Perhaps because your mind is somewhere else?” the yellow ghost suggested.

A small, nervous chuckle left the maned ghost's mouth. **“Is it really _that_ obvious?”** he asked.

Horace nodded. “Tell me, Snatcher, what's on your mind? Is it what happened, a few days ago?”

The specter's eyes focused on the buttonhole he was making. **“... Yes, it is,”** he admitted, slowly stitching as he spoke. **“At least, that's _part_ of what I'm worried about, anyway. I'll have to start practicing with my powers, again, if I want to be able to fight _her_ off...”**

The tailor's brow rose as he expertly sewed a hem on a dress. “I wouldn't worry about _her,_ too much.” Horace waved his hand, as though trying to shoo away the inky ghost's concerns. “Zacharias is looking into how to seal her off again, aren't they?”

**“That's the other part of what I'm concerned about.”** Sighing slightly, the specter set his needle down on the shirt and focused on Horace. **“Zacharias hasn't come out of their home in _three days._ They won't even let me in to see them! It's really _unsettling!_ I'm worried that they might blame _themselves_ for the barrier failing, in some way...”**

“Ah, I see...” Horace hummed and held his chin. “Have you told them that it wasn't their fault?”

The Snatcher frowned, before answering. **“I'm going to, once I finish up this shirt.”**

The tailor gently pat the ghost's back. “I'd say 'hurry up, then', but no good _ever_ came from rushing a stitch,” he loudly said with a smile.

Smiling back at the yellow ghost, the Snatcher took his needles back up and resumed stitching.

He suddenly paused, his needle poked into the shirt's fabric as he turned his attention back to Horace. **“You're hinting at something, aren't you?”** the maned ghost suddenly said, now fully comprehending what the tailor's words meant.

Horace nodded and knotted off their thread, before sticking the needle into a nearby pincushion. With a knowing smile on his face, the tailor straightened his back and rubbed his hands.

“Back when I had mastered everything there is to know about sewing, your mother hired me to fix the hem on one of her dresses,” he began saying, holding a hand palm-up as he recalled the old memory. “I was much younger, back then; I thought I had learned _everything_ I needed to know, and I felt rather confident that I could get it done _long_ before it was needed! I told your mother so, too!”

The Snatcher rested his head on a fist as he listened to the tale.

“I rushed to fix that hem the best I could, and by the time I was done, it looked practically brand-new!” the tailor boasted. “She was coming to pick it up, later that day, so I left the dress on a mannequin and went to finish up a few other pieces of clothing that needed fixing.”

All of a sudden, Horace wagged a finger at the inky ghost. “Then... guess what happened _right_ as I made my way to the door?” the yellow ghost implored.

With a raised eyebrow, the specter couldn't help but smile. **“The hem didn't hold up, did it?”** he ventured.

“It came apart _immediately,”_ the tailor laughed, “I was so focused on getting the hem done that I didn't _knot the thread off properly!”_

A chuckle escaped the Snatcher as he watched the old tailor wipe tears from his flaming orange eyes.

“Oh, I was a _mess!”_ the smaller ghost exclaimed, shaking his head at the memory. “It was then that I remembered one of the most _important_ rules of sewing.”

  
  
 **“Take your time,”** the maned ghost immediately answered.

The tailor winked and pointed at the specter. “That's the one!” Horace enthusiastically confirmed. “So I sat down and took my time with mending that hem. Once I was done, it looked even _better_ than it had the first time I fixed it!”

Horace paused, before smiling. “Fortunately, your mother was held up by a bit of a small storm, so she had to come by, the next day,” he divulged. “Nonetheless, that moment of panic reminded me not to be so hasty with sewing.”

**“I take it that this advice isn't just about sewing?”** guessed the noble ghost.

Nodding sagely, Horace took his needle back out from the pin cushion. “Very observant!” he complimented the Snatcher. “Rushing to do something will produce low-quality work. _Always take your time.”_

Chuckling once more, the inky ghost resumed his stitching; this time, with more care. **“I needed to hear that. Thanks, Horace.”**

Horace beamed as the specter finished off the last stitch, and held up the finished shirt. “Always happy to help a fellow tailor,” the yellow ghost replied, joy shining in his eyes. “That buttonhole will last for a long while, too!”

A large grin spread across the Snatcher's glowing face as he carefully hung the shirt up on a mannequin-

  
  


_Zacharias left their house. They were outside-_

  
  


The door to the tailor's house suddenly opened up. Horace and the Snatcher both turned their heads to the entrance.

Zacharias was floating there with their tome, an unreadable expression clear on their face.

“Hey, Horace.” The miller waved to the tailor, before directing their attention to the inky ghost. There was a look in their wisteria eyes; it was impossible to pick apart every bit of emotion, but it seemed like they had an epiphany.

**“Zacharias!”** the specter cried, clasping his hands together in delight. **“I'm glad to see you out of the house; there was something I wanted to talk with you about-”**

“Boss.” Zacharias held up a hand to silence him. “Whatever it is can wait.”

  
  


Before the Snatcher could argue or protest, the miller said something that immediately pushed aside any other thought in his inky mind.

  
  


“I know why the barrier failed, and _how to fix it.”_

* * *

The adults of the tree-stump village soon found themselves in the frozen ruins of the old kingdom, all of them huddled together behind the Snatcher. Their ruler squinted at the path to the manor, gliding towards the entrance as dreadful anticipation filled him.

  
  


After days of researching, Zacharias had discovered that the reason why the barrier failed was due to it not being bound by an object in their dimension. Being only a basic wall of dimensional magic, it could only stay strong for so long _before it would break apart._

  
  


The solution, therefore, was simple: _enchant an object with the dimensional magic to provide a **much stronger barrier.**_

  
  


After long deliberation and discussion, the ghosts of the forest figured that a man-made barrier would probably not be so stable when exposed to the cold, but Julio had suggested that- with the Snatcher and Clarissa's help, of course- they could move some of the trees from the forest to block off the path.

  
  


Which meant they would need to dig through the snow.

  
  


When they came to that realization, the inky ghost had instructed the villagers to stay back while he melted the thick, crystalline powder.

  
  


_He had only one reason for doing this;_ **to make sure the villagers didn't glimpse any _frozen bodies._**

  
  


The towering specter furrowed his nonexistent brow as he summoned blue flames, and directed them over the snow at the manor path's entrance. He watched the fire work its magic, forming a large dent in the snow-covered ground.

Steeling his nerve, the Snatcher watched the deep snow melt down further and further, hissing and steaming and melting as it grew closer to the ground.

  
  


Dread was in his _entire being,_ **his very soul.**

_What would he do if he came across the frozen body of one of the villagers? **Or of one of the children?**_

  
  


He could only wait, his mouth a thin line as he braced himself for what he might discover.

  
  


_**...** _

  
  


Much to his relief, the flames touched solid ground, revealing _no bodies of any kind_ beneath the melted area.

  
  


_Oh, thank heavens...!_

  
  


**“It's all clear!”** the maned spirit called back to the villagers. Snapping his talon-like fingers, he summoned a shovel to his hands. **“Now, let's get to work!”**

It was tiresome work. The villagers and the Snatcher dug into the frigid, somewhat damp ground in front of the path, making an trench deep enough for the trees they would have to transfer to the spot. When that work was done, they moved towards some of the nearby, non-frozen trees and carefully dug them out, the specter and Clarissa working to move them from where they grew to the trench. One by one, trees were unearthed and carried into the snow-ridden land, placed upright and buried under dirt.

He lost count of how many trees they dug up. But by the time they were done, the ghosts of Subcon Forest found themselves staring at a large wall of trees, their trunks so close together that no one- _especially not Vanessa-_ would be able to squeeze through.

Zacharias held up their tome and cast the dimensional magic. The leafless trees gaining a purple-ish hue as they were enchanted, and prompted loud cheering from the ghosts.

  
  


The miller sighed and closed their tome, their expression pensive as they frowned at the newly-made barrier.

A frown quickly replaced the Snatcher's own triumphant smile, once he noticed the serious look on Zacharias' face. Floating over to the miller, he placed a hand on their shoulder.

 **“Zacharias, why are you so forlorn?”** he asked, baffled by their unusual behavior.

“This barrier-” Zacharias motioned to the purple trees. “- will last longer than the other one, but I'll have to renew the magic, every so often. I don't know _when_ I'll need to do that, either.”

**“We'll figure that out, when the time comes,”** the specter told them, **“but for right now, we should relax-”**

“I _can't_ relax,” the miller suddenly interrupted, pulling his shoulder away from the ruler's hand. “If I had read just a _little_ bit further, I would have _known_ she would eventually break through. This is...”

They trailed off, their eyes moving towards the tree barrier. “... This is my fault,” they mumbled.

  
  


Something _sparked_ inside of the specter's chest. All of a sudden, he found himself eye-to-eye with the miller as he gripped their shoulders firmly.

  
  


**“Zacharias,”** the Snatcher murmured, his distorted tone quiet and serious, **“ _none of this was your fault._ You made a small mistake, and got a bit hasty. _Everyone_ makes mistakes.”**

Somber eyes finally turned their gaze to the specter as Zacharias thought about what he said.

**“Even if you _hadn't_ found a solution, no one here would blame you for what happened,”** he continued, **“least of all, myself. You were trying to help, and you _did._ Maybe it's not perfect, but what you did still _helps.”_**

  
  


... Slowly, the corners of the miller's mouth twitched up into a slight smile.

  
  


“Yeah, I... I guess you're right,” Zacharias finally conceded, their expression lightening up slightly.

Patting them on the shoulder, the Snatcher grinned and motioned to the other villagers. **“Now, how about we get a party going?”** the specter suggested. A sly glint appeared in his glowing eyes as he held a hand to the side of his mouth. **“We can probably convinced Ophelia to bake a pumpkin pie, while we're at it!”**

All of a sudden, the red ghost's face shifted from slightly somber to much more cheerful as they grinned widely at the phantom. “I like the sound of that!”

  
  


Their moods lifted, the Snatcher and Zacharias made their way back to the other ghosts, both of them eager to get a celebration going for the new barrier.

After a long night of laughter and delicious food, the Snatcher laid himself back in his plush armchair. He couldn't help but smile as he gazed up at the mushrooms growing up on the ceiling of his tree home, thoughts about the night of merry dancing and joking with all of the villagers still in his head. Even Zacharias had managed to cheer up and get up to their usual antics- much to Ophelia's disappointment- and ended up with some pumpkin pie _splattered_ across their face.

Everyone had laughed, including the miller.

  
  


His mind lingering on those happy thoughts, he closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, feeling much more secure about the future.

* * *

Inside of their tree-stump home, Zacharias sat in their chair, pouring over every single book they had on magic.

Every explanation they found wasn't enough; they knew the reason why the barrier hadn't held up now, and even found a much _longer-lasting_ solution, but it wasn't _permanent._ Eventually, _Vanessa_ would weaken the new barrier, as well. _She could still break through it._

... They didn't know what was happening to themselves. For the longest time, they were content with being the cool guy of the village- the person that caused a _bit_ of trouble but everyone _still_ loved, despite their antics! Heck, they _still_ enjoyed pranks and causing a bit of trouble, every now and then!

It was just that... now, they could also _help out,_ in their own way. A means of making up for past troubles.

  
  


"Responsible", the Snatcher had called the miller. He had said they had become so _responsible,_ that he was _proud_ of them!

  
  


Guilt **tore** through Zacharias.

  
  


The miller's mind drifted away to the party they had, earlier that day. Everyone laughing as Zacharias ended up with a face covered in pumpkin pie...

  
  


_They almost lost everyone, all because they didn't read one page further._

_She_ could have _hurt them all,_ **everyone they cared about,** _**all because they didn't stop to read further about the magic!**_ And the Snatcher-

  
  


_... The state he was in, when they found him on the bridge..._

  
  


The miller had to leave the others to help him.

They couldn't look at the maned ghost while he was like that.

_It was_ **too painful** _to see the ruler so..._

**This was all their fault.**

  
  


_**Why hadn't they read the next page, before suggesting using the barrier magic!?** _

  
  


Worst of all, though the barrier would last for longer, what Zacharias learned from their tome was that the strength of the barriers _also_ relied on the strength of the person using the magic. They had kept this a secret, since they wanted to search for a better way of dealing with the ice witch, but none of the tomes they had out on their desk revealed **_any other options!_**

  
  


The miller held their face in their hands, groaning loudly in frustration.

  
  


There _had_ to be a more permanent way to remove Vanessa as a threat than some barrier _that would have to be renewed!_

  
  


_There had to be a way..._

  
  


...

  
  


Slowly, they removed their hands from their face.

Reaching towards the handle of a small drawer next to their bed, they opened the drawer and cast their gaze to its contents.

A few spell books and tomes lay at the bottom of the drawer; books Zacharias had picked up during clean-up of the forest, after Shady's army had been defeated. They hadn't read through them, fully intending to burn the tomes immediately, but they never did, for some reason.

As the miller gazed down at the old tomes, they knew that a more permanent solution to their _Vanessa problem_ had to lie in one of the books.

They closed the drawer, placing a green barrier over the nightstand to keep others from getting inside. Only one thought came to the miller's mind as they moved towards the door to the village outside.

  
  


“I'm going to have to ask Frederick if I can borrow Lewis' old tome, again.”


	31. A Tale of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old tales from the past are certainly a delight to hear.

“How have you been faring, Your Highness?”

**“Well... things were a bit rough, for a while, I will admit. But they're getting better.”**

  
  


It was another calm day in Subcon Forest. Subcon Village was as lively as ever, with the children all at their lessons and the adults all working hard at writing letters. Everyone was content as Julio floated by, carrying the massive bags that held the finished masks that would be taken up to the Alpine Skyline.

  
  


“I'll be at the edge of the forest!” the ghostly gardener called, waving to the forest's ruler.

 **“I'll send our royal courier over, in just a moment! Stay safe!”** the Snatcher called back, raising a teacup as a gesture of farewell.

As Julio vanished into the treeline, the spectral ruler slowly sipped from his teacup, before sighing.

Across from the stump he sat upon was Clarence, seated on a smaller stump. The ghost and royal courier had sat down for some delightful tea as they struck up some conversation- a regular routine they had, whenever the courier would visit Subcon Forest. Not only did it keep the ghostly prince up-to-date with with what was going on in the world, it allowed him time to simply unwind and relax.

Though right now, the news he had to tell Clarence was... _somewhat worrying..._

The messenger raised an eyebrow at him, their slightly-wrinkled face sporting features filled with concern as they waited for him to carry on with speaking.

Slowly, the specter lowered the teacup back onto the saucer in his other hand. **“Do you remember how I mentioned that Zacharias found a way to keep _Vanessa-”_**

He took a sip of tea, trying to wash the _disgusting_ taste of saying _her_ name down. **“- from getting to the rest of the forest?”**

“Indeed,” the courier replied with a nod, “everyone was rather excited about the news.”

**“Well...”** His fanged mouth turned into a frown as he glanced to the side. **“... it's not permanent.”**

Clarence set their own teacup down as their green eyes widened in alarm. “That... _is_ concerning...” the messenger managed to say, utterly shocked by the news.

A solemn nod from the Snatcher came, before he continued speaking. **“Fortunately, Zacharias found a way to make a stronger barrier that will last longer,”** he informed Clarence. **“Unfortunately, we'll need to renew it, every so often.”**

Clarence hummed at that. “The previous barrier lasted about fifteen years, didn't it?” they mused.

 **“It did,”** he confirmed, **“and this one likely will last even _longer.”_**

Lifting their teacup back up, the messenger took a sip. “Considering how long the last barrier held for, I would say renewing this barrier would be much less of a hassle, and well worth it.”

Smiling slightly, the Snatcher raised his teacup. **“My thoughts, exactly,”** he agreed. **“It's concerning, naturally, that _she_ will be able to _eventually_ break through this new barrier, but it's nothing I can't handle.”**

The royal messenger nodded slightly. “Regardless,” they suddenly said, “I will be certain to ask the nomads and goats if they have any further information that could help establish a more _permanent_ means of keeping the former queen trapped.”

 **“I would be grateful for that.”** The Snatcher held a hand to his maned chest, his glowing features relaxing into a thankful smile.

  
  


The two chatted for a while, until they had both finished off their cups of tea. The two stood up from their seats, the Snatcher clasping his hands together while Clarence put their mask back on.

“I will collect everyone's letters for the nomads,” the messenger said, stretching their back as they spoke. “It will certainly be quite a hike up the mountains; I hear there might be storms, soon.”

**“In the Alpine Skyline?”** the Snatcher asked for clarification, all the while pulling out a sealed envelope that he handed off to the courier.

“The lower regions, yes,” Clarence confirmed, carefully tucking the letter into their messenger's bag. “We may return somewhat later than normal.”

 **“Well, there's nothing to be done about the weather,”** he casually remarked.

His eyes widened suddenly as he remembered something. **“Oh! I almost forget!”** he suddenly exclaimed.

With a snap of his fingers, a wooden staff popped into existence. Twirling the staff with his fingers, the phantom smiled and held it out for the messenger.

 **“Selene wanted to make you something as a thank-you gift, for all of your years of hard work,”** he explained, watching Clarence take the staff into their hands. **“Plus, every mountain-climber needs a reliable staff, wouldn't you agree?”**

The messenger hummed and nodded. He had a feeling there was a smile on their face, behind their mask. “You are certainly right,” they agreed, “though I have a feeling that I will be on the receiving end of many a staff-related pun, given my last name.”

He had to bite back a laugh, his mouth growing into a smile shaky with amusement. **“I'll tell you right now, one of those people will _definitely_ be Joseph,”** he pointed out.

Clarence burst into quiet laughter, at that.

Unable to contain his own chuckling any longer, the Snatcher let out a long, sheepish laugh.

Once they had calmed down, the royal messenger cleared their throat as they gripped the staff in their left hand. “I will be certain to thank Selene for such a magnificently-crafted staff,” they remarked, admiring the wood grain on its handle. “It will come in handy, in the mountains.”

  
  


In the distance, the grandfather clock in his tree home chimed the half hour.

  
  


**“Goodness, two-thirty already...”** noticed the phantom, his head turned in the direction of the tree home. He turned back to the courier and smiled apologetically. **“I _would_ escort you through the forest and see you off, but I promised the children that I would help them with their homework.”**

“It is all right,” Clarence replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I know my way around the forest, at this point. Besides, the children's education is important, is it not?”

A small chuckle left his fanged mouth as he nodded and pat their shoulder. **“Of course,”** he said, before giving the courier a small nod. **“Safe travels, my friend.”**

“Thank you, Snatcher,” Clarence replied, their green eyes twinkling behind their mask. “I wish you and your people the best, as well.”

  
  


With their farewells said, the Snatcher floated off towards the center of the village to help the children with their homework, while Clarence walked around to collect letters from everyone. After every letter had been safely stowed away in their bag- and after they thanked Selene for the delightful staff- the royal courier made their way to the forest's entrance, soon spotting Julio sitting on a rock. The gardener smiled heartily at the messenger and waved, before lifting his bag onto his shoulders.

“Snatcher would see us off, but he is busy helping the children with their homework,” Clarence explained, quickly hefting the other bag onto their back.

“I figured as much!” Julio chuckled, glancing off to the canyon beyond the forest. “Well, we better get going. We have a long trek to the mountains and back.”

  
  


As they stepped out of the forest's boundaries and night turned instantly to day, the courier and ghost carried on a delightful conversation, unaware of the _creepy stowaways_ that had crept into their bags.

* * *

**“Do you know how this skull wound up here, children?”**

  
  


_No._

  
  


**“Really? Well, it is _quite_ a story! Would you like to hear it?”**

  
  


_Yes!_

  
  


**“All right, gather around, kids! I'll tell you all about this behemoth, right here!”**

  
  


Subcon's children were huddled together by a gigantic skull near the village, their serpentine bodies resting on the ground as they tilted their masked heads back to gaze up at the shadowy ruler of the forest. The Snatcher smiled cheerfully as he pat the skull with on of his clawed hands, preparing another thrilling tale to tell the little ones about the creature that the skull once belonged to.

  
  


**“Now, you all know the story 'The Beast of Subcon Forest', don't you?”** he asked the little ones.

The children all nodded, their curiosity about the gigantic skull pervading the very air.

A furtive grin appeared on the specter's face, as he leaned down towards the children. **“This is a little-known secret,”** the specter whispered to them, **“but this giant skull had a _big_ part to play in creating that tale!”**

They all perked up in an instant, listening eagerly and intently.

  
  


The phantasmic ruler could feel the awe _radiating_ from their tiny beings.

  
  


His grin growing, the Snatcher gestured with his hands as he started the tale.

  
  


**“Many years ago, long before even my _father_ was around, and before even the tale of 'The Beast of Subcon Forest' had taken place, the kingdom of Subcon lived in peace with the surrounding forest. The Fire Spirits had their own piece of land they liked to visit, the bushcats took restful naps in the sunlight, and the people of Subcon Kingdom took care of the forest and were rewarded with luxurious bounties of food. Everything was _fantastic!”_**

Holding his hands together, the Snatcher gazed down at the children. **“One day, the local woodcutters were out in the forest, chopping down trees for more wood. Their work was going well, and they had plenty of daylight to dig up the old trunks and put new saplings in the ground.”**

The specter straightened himself up without warning, his glowing smile still plain on his face. **“Suddenly-”** He pointed to the cliffs nearby. **“- a _massive_ creature burst from the treeline and charged at the woodcutters, for no reason at all!”**

The mask-wearing spirits noiselessly gasped, some of them clinging to one another with their tails while others kept their eyes locked onto the towering ghost.

**“The poor woodcutters scattered, terrified by the formidable behemoth threatening their lives,”** he continued. Pausing briefly for dramatic effect, the specter slowly held up a talon-like finger. _**“Except for one.”**_

All of the tiny spirits leaned forward, _enthralled_ by the new story.

**“The lone woodcutter _wrenched_ their axe from a stump, and with no fear at all, scrambled up the nearest tree while the creature was distracted by the other people fleeing for their lives.”** He did a slow, sweeping gesture with his arm, moving it from left to right as he spoke. **“They were practically a _monkey,_ with how fast they scaled the tree, jumping from limb to limb _without_ so much as breaking a sweat! In seconds, they had reached the very top!”**

  
  


_Then what happened?_

  
  


Chris was practically _vibrating with excitement_ from the tale, eager to know how it ended.

The little ones' anticipation for the rest of the story was _palpable._

  
  


His grin stretching clear across his inky face, the Snatcher clenched his hands.

**“The woodcutter gripped their axe, raised it high above their head-”** He raised his own arms above his head, as though he were holding an axe, himself. **“- and leapt down towards the creature's back! As the woodcutter fell, they took the poll of their axe-”**

All of a sudden, the phantom swung his arms. **“- and _smashed it_ into the back of the creature's neck!”**

  
  


He could _feel_ the inaudible _“Whooooa...!”_ that came from the children.

Ah, how he _loved_ telling them stories...

  
  


**“There was a thunderous _CRACK!”_** the maned ghost joyfully exclaimed, clapping his hands together to emphasize the sound-

Instead of a clapping sound, a sharp **snap** suddenly rang through the area. The specter jolted, and the children jumped, the entire group of masked spirits staring up at him in surprise.

The Snatcher stared at his hands for a brief second in utter _bewilderment._

“Sorry! Thought I'd help set the scene!”

As the specter turned around, he already _knew_ who was behind him.

Zacharias hovered up in the trees, holding a broken branch in their ghostly hands. A cheeky grin was plain on the red ghost's face as they tossed the branch pieces aside and floated down to the group.

A wide, fanged grin soon matched Zacharias' as the forest's ruler chuckled. **“Well, I'd say you did an _excellent_ job at that!”** he remarked.

Zacharias set on top of the giant skull and saluted the shadowy ghost. “Always happy to help, boss!” the miller replied.

As his grin relaxed into a smile, the Snatcher couldn't help but feel content.

  
  


It had been about a month since the new tree barrier had been placed. Though he had been worried about the miller's well-being, at first, he quickly noticed a change in Zacharias. They were pretty much back to their old, mischievous self! Something he said _must_ have gotten through to them, because not only were they playing pranks, but they were _genuinely happy,_ and full of _seemingly-endless_ energy.

It felt _good_ to see them in a much better mood...

  
  


“Don't let me stop you from finishing the story,” Zacharias suddenly said, motioning with a hand for the specter to continue. "I'm just here to listen in."

Wrenched from his reflective thoughts, the Snatcher quickly turned his attention back to the children. **“Right, the story!”** he realized, before stroking his mane. **“Now, where was I...?”**

He heard Denise suddenly speak up.

  
  


_The woodcutter hit the monster!_

  
  


He snapped his fingers. **_“That's right!_ Thank you, Denise!”**

Immediately getting back into storytelling mode, the taller ghost slapped the ground as he resumed the tale. **“The creature went limp, falling straight to the ground with a monstrous _thud!_ The woodcutter rested their axe on their shoulder and stared at the creature, which was _undeniably_ dead.”**

The children cheered silently, some of them flipping into the air with glee while others spun around.

A small laugh escaped him as he waited for them to settle down. Once they had, he wasted little time in continuing the story.

**“They glanced up, and out of the corner of their eye, they glimpsed something in the treeline where the giant had come from.”**

His glowing eyes narrowed as he squinted, a smile on his face till as the little ones focused all of their attention on the noble ghost.

**“The woodcutter squinted, and there in the trees, they could see _another creature_ like the one that had attacked. The beast _glared_ at them, before they _vanished into the trees.”_**

  
  


Had they faces behind their masks, he knew _all_ of the children would be sporting wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions.

All of a sudden, he could hear Francisca scream something in realization.

  
  


_The beast of Subcon Forest!_

  
  


**“That's right!”** he laughed, before clasping his hands together. **“After Subcon's king had caught wind of the tale, he ordered that the dead behemoth be buried in the forest, to hopefully appease the creature that the woodcutter had seen fleeing from the logging area. The hole that was dug in the ground was _gigantic;_ so big that the workers needed ladders just to get in and out of it! Once they were finished, the body was placed inside-”**

He grinned slightly as his eyes swept over the enthralled children.

**“- but they found that it was _too big_ for the hole! The creature's head was _sticking out of it!”_**

Some of the children giggled at that, while others gasped, and even more still seemed grossed out.

**“Of course, they couldn't lift the creature out, by that point, so they were forced to bury the giant like that. They used some extra dirt to cover the head, and over time the dirt gradually was blown away by the wind, revealing this skull.”** The specter pat the giant skill a couple of times.

All of a sudden, he leaned forward. **"Now, this was a _long_ time ago, so plants _should_ have covered the skull by now,”** the phantom told the children. **“But this skull- and the dirt underneath it- is _completely untouched by any flora._ Do you know why, children?”**

They all shook their heads.

**“Well, gather closely to the skull and listen!”**

Heeding his instruction, the little ones moved over to the skull, all of them listening very, _very_ closely.

  
  


There was a most _unusual_ sound coming from the skull; a sound that would grow quieter, then louder, almost like wind flowing through the bone structure, yet sounding somewhat more _eerie_ than just a whispering breeze. Almost like _breathing,_ and yet with no pause in the noise as there would be between each breath.

  
  


_What is that?_

  
  


Anthony's question seemed louder than the faint noise that emanated from the skull. As the little ones turned back towards him, the Snatcher shook his head slightly.

**“No one knows,”** he told the children. **“But some people believe that sound has some kind of magic to it; something about it keeps the plants from claiming the ground and the exposed skull, almost like it's _scaring the plants away.”_**

  
  


_Oooooooh..._

  
  


Zacharias' gaze moved down to the specter as they rested their head against their fist. “Hey, doesn't this remind you of the time the king and queen- _your_ parents- brought us all out here to show us this skull?” they suddenly mentioned.

The Snatcher blinked a couple of times, before the memory came back. **“Hey, you're right!”** he suddenly exclaimed. **“I _completely_ forgot about that! We all went back to the castle, after that!”**

“Yeah!” The miller chuckled as they rubbed the back of their head. “Man, that day was _crazy!”_

Their interests piqued, the children glanced between the miller and ruler, curiosity now bubbling inside of their serpentine beings.

  
  


_What happened?_

  
  


Susan's question prompted both of the adults to turn their attention back to the little ones.

For a moment, the specter was hesitant to tell them about that day. However, their curiosity filled his senses as they all looked to him expectantly for another potential story.

  
  


_Heck, he **couldn't** say no, could he?_

  
  


Finally, he relented, shaking his head as he held his hands together. **“Well, I guess I can tell you _one more story,”_** he finally said.

The children all silently cheered while Zacharias made themselves more comfortable on the skull. The little ones swiftly gathered around the shadowy ghost, eager for a story about their prince.

  
  


**“This happened a long time ago; back when I was ten years old.”**

  
  


_That day was still **clear** in his mind..._

* * *

The beautiful greenery of Subcon Forest was obscured by white powder as snow gently fell from the cloudy sky. The snow blanketed the ground, the leaves, the plants, and even the bushcats that were hibernating for the winter. Frigid air and a chilly breeze kept even the strongest woodcutters from working, and many stumps were left on the ground to serve as reminders of trees that would need to be replanted in the spring. Silence hung in the air, save for the excited commentary of one man entertaining a large group of children with a thrilling tale.

One of the kings of Subcon Kingdom- the young prince's father- was standing next to a massive, snow-covered skull, gesturing dramatically as he told the children the story behind the massive remains.

  
  


“- and some people say that the sound this skull makes is magical in nature, scaring away _all of the plants_ from this very spot!”

A collective “Whoooooaaa...!” came from the children as they all huddled together, pure awe _shining_ in their wide-open eyes as the king concluded the tale. _Everyone_ was amazed by the exciting tale of the woodcutter that fell the _terrifying_ giant in one blow! It was like they had all been told a _huge_ secret!

Anne's eyes gleamed as she bounced up and down, Joseph peered between his fingers once the story had ended, Zacharias sported a confident grin as they crossed their arms- undoubtedly thinking about how _they_ could pull something like that off easily, and even Gwendolyn's normally-serious expression faltered as glimmers of light shined in her eyes! All the while, all of the other children were whispering ecstatically about what they had just learned

The young prince sat at the front of the group, smiling from ear to ear as he took in every word. To his left sat Aizat, the boy's green eyes sparkling, and his smile stretching clear across his face. On the prince's right was Aureola, their eyes wide and their mouth open slightly from the tale.

The young noble turned his head back and forth to look at the two. “Wasn't that story amazing?” he asked his friends.

“The _coolest!”_ Aizat agreed, throwing his hands up into the air.

Aureola turned to look at the prince, nodding slowly in response. It was clear they were absolutely _floored_ by the story.

  
  


Suddenly, a voice interrupted the children's excited whispering.

  
  


“A wonderful story, love! But don't you think it's about time we make haste for the castle?”

The queen had been standing next to the skull, a smile on her face and amusement in her tone as she held her hands together in front of herself.

The king glanced at his wife and rubbed the back of his head, chuckling slightly. “I guess I _did_ get carried away with story-telling, didn't I?” he sheepishly realized.

“Just a bit,” the queen replied, her smile only growing. “Not that that's a _bad_ thing, but we don't want the children to catch a cold, do we?”

“Of course not!” The king cleared his throat. “All right, everyone! Hold hands and stay close together; our next stop is the castle!”

Excited cheering suddenly erupted from the little ones.

Glancing down at his son, Aizat, and Aureola, the royal monarch grinned. “All right, you two brothers-” He winked jokingly and pointed at the boys. “- and you, Aureola-” His finger soon pointed at the pallid child. “- will be leading the group with me, so stick close!”

  
  


It was times like this when the prince was reminded of just how _similar_ he and Aizat looked. Were it not for the fact that Aizat and his parents had moved to Subcon in more recent years- and if it weren't for Aizat's blond-colored hair, green eyes, and straight-edged nose, the two boys could have practically been _twins!_

Something that people would kindly make a joke about, _including_ the prince's father.

The boys didn't mind, either; they found it funny, as well!

  
  


Giggling in amusement, the two boys moved away from each other, knowing Aureola would want to walk between both of them. Soon, the younger child's mitten-wearing hands were wrapped around the boys' own gloved hands, as the rest of the children behind them began grabbing the hands of the nearest person.

The prince's mother moved behind the group, just to make sure no one fell behind. His father, meanwhile, stood at the front. With an eager smile, the monarch beamed at the children.

“Is everyone ready?”

“Yes!” the children all said at the same time, their exclamation loudly ringing.

“Here we go, then! Next stop: the castle!”

  
  


With the excited crowd of children letting out one more joyous cheer, the whole group of children and the royal monarchs made their way through the forest.

  
  


Today was a special day for all of the children- not because of the unexpected detour they took when Zacharias had noticed the giant skull and asked about it, but rather because all of the village's children would be getting a tour of the _castle!_ Naturally, the prince of Subcon was _enthusiastic_ about showing all of the children around his home. He'd get to show them his room, and he had presents he wanted to give everyone! Plus, there would be a large feast for everyone!

That was all that he could think about as he trudged through the snow with everyone, his parents greeting the guards that were patrolling the forest during the trek.

While the prince knew the path back home by heart, the other children were shooting each other curious and questioning looks, obviously wondering when they would arrive at their destination.

All of a sudden, Anne let go of one of the hands she had been holding and pointed in the distance. _“Look!”_ she suddenly yelled, “I can see a tower!”

The other children all followed her gaze, including the prince, who tried hard to hide his knowing smile.

  
  


Before the children's very eyes, a green curtain wall came into view, a large gate placed right in the middle of it. The battlements hosted countless soldiers on patrol, and large towers- both square and round- stood tall along the walls, surrounding the keep that stood high above all of them. The conical roofs of the round towers- some straight, and some concave- put on brilliant displays of reds and whites with its spectacular shingles.

All of the other children stared, amazement growing on their faces as their eyes sparkled and their jaws dropped.

The king and queen gave each other an amused smile. Meanwhile, the prince merely beamed as the gate opened with the wave of his father's hand.

The king turned to them all, his smile quickly growing. “Come along, children!” he welcomed them with open arms, “There's much to see, and _so little time_ before you have to go home!”

Within seconds, the large group of children were rushing straight through the gate after the monarch, who laughed and kept ahead of them all with large strides. The young prince hurried to stay ahead of the group with Aizat and Aureola as dozens upon dozens of tiny boots stampeded through the snow-covered courtyard. Behind the group followed the queen, a hand held over her mouth as she giggled at the sight.

* * *

_Wait, you went to the castle?_

  
  


Logan's sudden question drew the Snatcher from the memory as the children all stared at Zacharias.

Laying on the skull with their back to them, the miller was merely listening to the tale with their arms behind their head. Zacharias grinned widely, tilting their head back to return their stares with a proud gaze of their own, and a cheeky grin.

 _“We sure did,”_ was the red ghost's reply, their tone laced with the same amount of proud that was on their face, “We saw the great hall, the drawing room, _your_ bedroom-” They pointed at Snatcher. “- and basically _every part of the castle!”_

  
  


The specter could sense tiny wellsprings of awe filing up inside of the children.

Ah... that warmed his _soul,_ right there...

  
  


_Man, why didn't we get to see the castle?_

  
  


That comment from Chris conjured the image of the child crossing their arms and pouting in the Snatcher's mind.

Holding back a chuckle for their sake, he quickly answered. **“I am _certain_ my parents were planning on showing you around the castle, at some point!”**

The chorus of disappointed _“Aw”_ s filled the noble ghost's senses within seconds.

“We all got to help out in the kitchen, too!” Zacharias continued, “The king and queen even taught us a new recipe for some new imported food or something that the kingdom would be getting!”

**“Dates,”** he reminded them.

“That's right! Dates!” Zacharias hummed as they closed their eyes. “Man, I remember helping out with those dates, too!”

 **“If by 'help' you mean 'got dates in my father's hair', then you helped _immensely,”_** the specter joked, pointing a finger at the red ghost.

 _“Guilty!”_ Zacharias fully admitted, causing many of the children to shake from laughter- and causing some to noiselessly gasp in shock.

In just seconds, the Snatcher broke into a loud guffaw, as well, holding his head at the image of his father with dates in his hair- a prank that Zacharias had failed to pull on Gwendolyn with the bowl of fruit.

**“Father took it all in stride, though!”** the shadowy ruler laughed, doubled over as he began wheezing. Eventually, he calmed down and straightened himself up with a sigh. **“But you _did_ have to sit in the corner for a while!”** he added.

“Yeah, your parents _weren't_ as big of fans of pranks, unlike the other king and queen,” Zacharias mentioned while nodding slightly. “But on the bright side, once my punishment was over and you guys were done helping in the kitchen, we all got play in the courtyard while the cooks finished the feast!”

The children gasped, having calmed down from their giggling fit moments prior.

  
  


_You got to play in the courtyard?_

  
  


That was what Denise asked.

  
  


**“Oh, we did!”** the Snatcher responded, before getting lost in thought. **“If only we knew what would happen...”**

  
  


At that, all of the children's masked eyes were upon him.

  
  


_What happened?_

  
  


Alexis was staring up at him, her tiny tail wrapped around Feni.

  
  


_**“Ah...”** _

The tall ghost and the miller glanced at one another, sharing a knowing look, before they both nodded and turned their attention back to the children.

**“Well, let me tell you what happened!”** he continued, clasping his hands together tightly. **“It was while we were playing in the snow.”**

“I started a huge snowball fight!” was Zacharias' contribution to the tale.

The inky spirit nodded a bit before continuing. **“They did,”** he confirmed, **“all of the children _and_ my parents were dragged into the game!”**

* * *

It all started when Zacharias threw a snowball at Anne.

Now, the entire courtyard was filled with an _all-out war!_

  
  


Round, white projectiles flew through the air as the children yelled and screamed, rushing here and there to dodge snowballs and hurrying to pack together more of the cold powder together and add more of the frozen spheres to their arsenal.

The prince and Aizat banded together, quickly building a fort out of snow to shelter them from the cold onslaught. The two boys quickly built up their stockpile of snowballs, and with wide grins and eyes shining with confidence, the two began pelting the other children with snowballs!

Naturally, the other children caught on to this, and immediately began constructing their own forts.

Snow fell gently as snowballs barraged the white forts, further adding to the chaos of the fight.

Subcon's king, naturally, wound up in the middle of the mess, crouching behind a fort with Gwendolyn and Aureola and whispering a plan to the two.

Behind another fort, Zacharias and Joseph were laughing as they tossed snowballs over at the children scrambling for cover, the former fist-pumping triumphantly while the latter kept making more of the cold projectiles.

“Keep it up; we have them on the run!” Zacharias cried with a grin, lifting their head up to survey the situation-

Cold snow _splattered_ across the child's face, causing them to wrinkle their nose and blink to get the frozen liquid out of their eyes. After a moment, they shook their head, and wiped their face off, glancing in the direction the snowball had come from.

Aureola's eyes were wide and round, giving them that signature cornered deer look they had a tendency to sport. Their arm was extended in front of themselves; all the evidence needed to prove they had thrown the snowball in question.

At first, the king's expression was concerned at Zacharias being pelted in the face. That worried gaze soon changed into panicked delight as the child suddenly grabbed a snowball and threw it his way!

“Nice throw, Aureola!” the ruler exclaimed, a wide grin stretching across his face as he sheltered behind the snow fort.

Aureola quickly joined him, just barely dodging a snowball that whizzed by overhead. The little one glanced up at the monarch and smiled slightly, their eyes shining joyfully.

Gwendolyn managed to deck Joseph with a snowball to the chest, sending the poor boy falling back behind the fort.

As the king and the two children at his side poked their heads up from behind the fort, a loud scream suddenly rang out as Anne charged right at them.

“AMBUSH!!!”

Gwendolyn and Aureola immediately fled from behind the fort as the king of Subcon quickly stood up, grabbing the screaming girl before she could smash a snowball onto him!

“Sorry, Anne,” the king apologized, “but you'll need to plan a better ambush than-”

He _yelped_ as cold snow hit him in his back, causing him to drop a laughing Anne into the snow.

_“I'M A DISTRACTION!”_ Anne yelled, scrambling onto her feet and darting away.

Turning around, the king's jaw dropped when he spotted the queen, tossing a snowball up and down in her hand.

“I _can't_ believe it!” he cried, a hand flying up to his chest. “To think my own wife would _betray me,_ like this!”

The queen laughed, raising an amused eyebrow at her husband. A mischievous glint was in her eyes as she suddenly chucked the snowball right at the man, causing him to yelp once more as he ducked to the side to avoid the cold sphere.

_“Hey-!”_

With a playful grin on his face, the prince's father scooped up some snow and flung it at her, missing by inches as she jumped to the side.

With the two royals engaged in their own snowball fight, the children went _nuts_ with running at each other with snowballs in their hands. The thick blanket of snow sported many small missing chunks as the children scooped into it and squashed the cold substance onto one another.

Aizat and the prince soon joined the horde, yelling as loudly as they could as they rushed forward into the madness and smashing snow into the other children.

All of a sudden, the queen cried out in surprise as the king hooked an arm around her stomach and swung her around, before they both fell right into the snow!

The couple looked at each other for a second, before they both started laughing.

_“KID PILE!!!”_ Anne suddenly cried, rushing over and flinging herself on top of the monarchs. The king released a loud “Oof-!” as the girl landed right on his stomach.

All of a sudden, a horde of children rushed over, laughing excitedly as they all fell over onto the two adults. The king and queen joined in the giggling, while some of the children that stayed behind began tackling each other into the snow, or throwing more snowballs at one another.

  
  


Aizat and the prince laughed as they fell over into the fresh powder, dodging a few snowballs as they packed together even _more_ snow for ammunition. Within seconds, the two boys were swiftly hurling the powdery orbs into the air!

  
  


Joyous laughter filled the snowy courtyard, and echoed through the castle grounds.

  
  


The snowfall grew greater as wind began gently blowing.

  
  


As the children piled on top of the monarch rolled off of them and onto the snow, the royal couple suddenly stopped giggling as the wind began whistling.

Aizat and the prince stood up from the ground as the large snowflakes began blowing through, glancing around as the snow started to obscure their vision.

  
  


Immediately, the king and queen were on their feet.

“Children, come inside, now!” the queen called, a hint of urgency in her tone.

  
  


The wind grew stronger as the children that were farther away from the monarchs ran to reach them.

Aizat and the prince ran forward, holding their hands in front of their faces as snow whirled around them. Both of the boys squinted as they tried to make their way over to the prince's parents.

Aureola ran forward after the boys, gasping for air as they tried to shield themselves from the cold.

A small thump behind them made them stop and turn around.

  
  


Another child lay in the snow, struggling to get back up.

  
  


Aureola glanced between the disappearing figures of the boys and the child lying in the snow quickly, their eyes wide as the snow around them grew more violent.

They ran to help the child back onto their feet.

  
  


The boys' progress was quickly slowed as the sudden blizzard started _raging,_ surrounding them with walls of white as they tried to reach the keep. They could _barely_ see in front of their faces...

“Where's Aureola!?” Aizat yelled to the prince.

“I don't know!” the prince shouted back, the wind roaring around them.

Someone bumped into the prince suddenly, causing the noble to whirl around. He could barely see who it was, but he could tell they were taller than Aureola, at least.

“Sorry!” the child quickly exclaimed, their hair whipping around in the wind.

“It's fine!” the noble quickly said. “Have you seen Aureola?”

“Yeah!” the child answered loudly, “They helped me back up! They're right behind-”

  
  
  
As they turned around, the child quickly realized there was no one behind them.

  
  


“- me...”

  
  


Aizat and the prince shared a wide-eyed, _terrified_ look.

_“AUREOLA!!”_ they both called, trying to hear the younger child over the loud winds.

  
  


_They could hear no reply._

  
  


Thinking quickly, the prince turned to the other child. “Tell my parents what's going on!” he quickly instructed, pointing in the direction of the keep.

The child ran as quickly as they could towards the castle's keep.

“AUREOLA!” the prince called, “STAY WHERE YOU ARE! WE'RE COMING FOR YOU!”

  
  


Nodding to one another, the two boys trudged through the raging winds into the white-out.

* * *

_You went out into a blizzard!?_

  
  


Francisca's startled cry interrupted the tale as the child darted up into the air, the eyes of her pink cat mask locked right onto the forest's ruler.

Chuckling in amusement, the Snatcher nodded. **“Yes, we did,”** confirmed the specter. **“We couldn't just leave Aureola out there, by themselves!”**

“Man, your parents were _worried sick_ about you guys, too!” Zacharias chimed in.

**“Were they?”** he inquired, a nonexistent eyebrow raised out of curiosity.

The miller shifted, turning around and sitting up straight so they could face the shadowy spirit. “Yeah! _Everyone_ was,” they revealed, “we all thought you were _goners,_ out there! I mean, your parents tried to hide that they were worried, but we could _tell_ they were scared...”

* * *

In front of the keep's entrance, the king of Subcon stood in the midst of the howling winds, his cape whipping about as he stared into the blizzard. Behind him, the queen shepherded the children together, her rosy, sand-colored face already becoming tinged with slight red from the cold. The children quickly huddled together as she led them away from the open door, her brow furrowed with worry as she did a role call.

“Zacharias?”

“Here!” The shivering child raised their hand quickly.

_“Oh, good heavens...”_ she murmured, before trying to put a reassuring smile on her face for the sake of the little ones. “Everything is all right, children,” she calmly said, “Let's head into the great hall, where it's warmer!”

As the children all turned to move further away from the doors, Zacharias quickly crept over to Joseph, Gwendolyn, and Anne. “Where's the others?” they whispered.

Joseph quickly shook his head, his eyes wide with horror. “I think they might be outside!” he whispered back.

“They were all near the gate, last I saw them,” Gwendolyn discreetly murmured.

“Should we go after them?” Anne energetically uttered.

“Maybe, I don't know!” Zacharias frowned, sneaking a glance over their shoulder at the keep's open entrance.

The queen was talking to the king. From the looks on their faces, they clearly were afraid.

  
  


The child turned back to the other three children, frowning uncharacteristically. “How will we get past-”

  
  
_“Your Majesty!”_

  
  


All of the children whirled around as the king suddenly knelt down into the snow. He quickly stood up and ran back inside, his arms wrapped around one of the children. The queen following him closely, checking the child over for any sign of injury or distress.

_“Are you all right?”_ both of the nobles _immediately_ inquired at the same time.

They had _plenty_ of other questions to ask, but the two adults found themselves unable to get another word in, as the child quickly nodded and pointed back at the open entrance.

“Th-The prince told me to go to the keep!” they stammered, teeth chattering slightly. “Aureola helped me when I fell, but they- th-they got lost by the g-gate! he and Aizat went- went after them!”

  
  


Alarm erupted from the rulers' faces as they shot each other a fearful look.

  
  


“Heavens, the _children...!”_ the queen whispered, her features contorting into distraught panic.

  
  


Zacharias glanced between her and the king, watching the man's expression changed from fear to restrained calm.

  
  


“It's okay,” the king quickly reassured the child, forcing a smile onto his face as he nodded at them. “You're safe now...”

The child shakily nodded, tears filling their eyes as the man gently hugged them, before turning to his wife.

“My dear, please take care of them,” he quietly requested, holding the little one out for her to take.

The queen nodded quickly, holding the trembling child tightly in her arms as her brow furrowed and worry knit itself onto her face. A look of recognition was on her face; as though she _knew_ what the king was planning.

“My love, be careful!” she urgently cautioned him, hugging the man with one arm quickly.

Nodding slightly, the king returned the embrace, before pulling away from the queen. The look in his golden eyes was one of fiery resolve as his features hardened with determination.

“I will,” he reassured his wife. “I'll be back with the children before you know it.”

The corners of the man's mouth turned up into a determined smile as he raised the hood of his cloak.

The queen briefly returned the smile, though it was hinted with concern. In an instant, she hurried over to the other children, still holding the shaking child in her arms as she smiled at them all.

“Come along, children!” she quickly directed them, “We'll head to the drawing room to warm up!”

As they walked through the door to the great hall, Zacharias glanced one last time over their shoulder and watched the king vanish into the snowstorm.

* * *

**“So _that's_ what happened...”**

  
  


The Snatcher leaned back slightly, holding a hand up to his nonexistent chin as he ruminated on what he just learned.

“Being honest, I know Anne and I were ready to run back outside after you three,” Zacharias remarked, a cheeky grin clear on their face. “That is, if the king wasn't directly in our way.”

**“I appreciate the thought, nonetheless,”** he thanked them, pointing a talon-like finger at the miller.

  
  


_What happened next...?_

  
  


Both of the adult ghosts turned their heads towards the sound of Penelope's voice. The child's crying mask glanced between both of the larger ghosts as they curled up on their red tail.

Zacharias glanced over at the maned ghost and grinned, motioning with a hand in a “go-ahead” gesture. “I think it's your turn, boss! Besides, I want to know what happened out there, too!”

A fanged smile spread across his face as he nodded. **“Well, after a cliffhanger like that, how could I refuse-”**

  
  


All of a sudden, the faint chime of the grandfather clock rang through the area eight times.

  
  


With the clock's interruption, the Snatcher blinked in surprise and straightened up. **“Would you look at the time...”** he remarked with a frown. **“It's time for some of you children to get to bed.”**

  
  


The younger children immediately darted over to him, _begging_ to hear the rest of the story.

  
  


_Please, can we stay up just this once?_

_I want to know how to story ends!_

_Why can't we stay up?_

  
  


**“Now, now, children,”** the ruler said, motioning for them to calm down. **“We'll continue this story, tomorrow.”**

Collective _“Awww”_ s filled his senses as the children reluctantly floated up from the ground, making their way back towards the village.

An amused chuckle escaped the phantom as he glanced over at Zacharias. **“They certainly seem _enthralled_ with the story, don't they?”** noted the maned ghost.

“Who _wouldn't_ be?” the miller replied, before floating up into the air. They stretched their arms over their head with a loud groan, before sighing. “Well, this was fun, but I need to help Julio and Frederick in the laboratory. They need help re-potting the plants.”

Patting the miller on the back, the Snatcher nodded at them with a smile. **“In that case, I won't keep you. I'm...”**

He trailed off, his gaze briefly turning towards the village as he spotted some of the younger children flying around and hiding.

 **“... going to have to make sure the kids go to bed, on time,”** he finished.

“Good luck with that,” Zacharias laughed, before floating off towards the tower. “Good Night, boss!” they bade with a wave.

**“Good Night, Zacharias!”** The Snatcher replied, returning the farewell briefly, before gliding over towards the village with an amused grin on his face. **“Now, kids, you are _not_ getting out of going to bed!”**

  
  


With a shake of their head, Zacharias flew through the trees and over the chasm to the tower. They paused at the door, their cheerful expression fading for a moment, before they plastered a cheeky grin on their face and went inside.

“Ah, Zacharias! You're just in time!”

Frederick darted over to the miller, his stone gray eyes gleaming with delight as he led them up to the second floor. “We were _just_ about to get started with re-potting!” he told them as they both made their way to the second floor.

He suddenly turned to look at Julio, who was busying himself with preparing the gigantic tubes for the quickly-growing cultivars. “Isn't that right, Julio?” the scientist asked.

Julio turned away from his work to smile, heartily. “That we were!” he agreed, a twinkle in his eye as he waved to Zacharias. “Heck, these beauties are growing so fast, I made the new plots _extra-large,_ so we won't have to replant them for a while!”

Frederick quickly moved to clear some books from the nearby table and put them away. Zacharias waved back at Julio, and quickly flew over to another planter to help out. Their brow raised the moment they spotted the carnivorous cultivars, which had grown since the last time they saw them.

The miller whistled, impressed. “Dang, they really _are_ getting big, aren't they?”

“That's right!” A beaming smile graced Julio's blue face as he pat the bloom of one of the plants. “They're so healthy; I couldn't be more proud!”

Frederick smiled, briefly, before the stack of books in his hands started wobbling. “Whoa!-” he yelled, leaning back and forth as a few books fell off of the stack.

Both Julio and Zacharias glanced up from their planters in alarm, but soon relaxed as Frederick regained control of the unstable book tower.

“I suppose I should take them down in smaller stacks!” the red-colored ghost scientist nervously chuckled, placing the book tower back on the table and leaning down to pick up the books that fell over.

“That'd be wise!” Julio laughed, turning back to his planting.

“It'd be bad if those books knocked anything over,” Zacharias pointed out, lowering their gaze back to the dirt.

In the midst of cleaning up the books, Frederick stopped suddenly as he noticed one of the now-open books on the ground. Carefully, the scientist picked the tome up and rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed as he stared at the pages.

“Zacharias, do you know why Lewis' old tome is missing a few pages?” he asked, turning the book around so the other two ghosts could see.

Julio arched an eyebrow as he glanced up at the book.

  
  


Zacharias _froze on the spot,_ their head lowered and eyes hidden. The trowel in their hand was half-buried in the dirt, the handle shaking slightly as the miller's trembling hand clutched it tightly.

  
  


_For a split-second, they were nervous._

  
  


“Dunno,” they answered with a shrug, resuming their digging nonchalantly. “I noticed that myself, when I borrowed it. Guess none of us read that far into it, until now.”

“Hmm...” Frederick hummed in thought as he turned the tome back around, his hand resting on his chin once more. “I wonder if Lewis did this on purpose... but what could possibly have been in here that they would want to keep a secret...?”

Relieved that their lie was bought, the miller let their shoulders relax, yet kept their nervous frown hidden. The trowel in their hand dug quickly into the dirt as they swallowed thickly and shrugged again.

“Beats me,” they calmly replied, before forcing their expression to relax and their frown to fade. They glanced up at the scientist and raised an eyebrow at him. “Come on, are you going to stare at that tome all day?” they suddenly asked. “I mean, we've got plants to- er, _plant.”_

“Oh!” Frederick closed the book shut. “Of course! Let me just put these books back in their proper place.”

"Here, I'll take care of the tome," suggested the miller, "so you can focus on organizing the other books."

"Ah, thank you!"

Frederick smiled as the miller wiped their hands off and took the tome. As the scientist gathered up a smaller amount of the stacked books and darted to put them away, and as Julio chuckled and shook his head, Zacharias lowered their gaze to the tome.

  
  


Their smile wavered, and their brow furrowed upwards as guilt crept onto their face.

  
  


Shaking their head, they floated over to the cabinet nearby. Quickly unlocking it, they placed the tome inside, shut the door, and locked it back up.

With Frederick on the floor below, and Julio bent over his beloved plants, the miller hid the key away from prying eyes and returned to digging in a planter with their trowel, their every movement under the silent scrutiny of the nearby carnivorous flora.


	32. The Growing Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One cold as ice, one burning hot, and both equally dangerous.

Another peaceful day in Subcon Forest. Stars were shining, the moon was still hanging overhead, and all of the creatures in the forest were rather quiet.

  
  


Inside of William's home, the ruler of the forest sat at one of the weaver's looms. The Snatcher's fingers were currently rounded, so as not to tear the fabric he was weaving, and his figurative brow was furrowed as he stared intently at the cloth he was creating. Eventually, his glowing features went from contorted in intense focus to relaxed and bright as he produced a perfect, finished, colorful fabric.

**“I think I've gotten the hang of this!”** he couldn't help but cheer.

William proudly smiled and pat the specter's back. “Well done, my boy!” he praised the inky ghost, “I told you, you can do _anything_ you put your mind to, when you work hard at it!”

An amused chuckle rose up from deep within the ruler's shadowy being as he floated up from the loom. **“Of course, it helped that I had an** _**outstanding** _ **teacher to instruct me,”** the Snatcher pointed out.

William placed a fist on his chest, which swelled with pride as he closed his eyes. “Well, _obviously!”_ he boasted. “Being a master in weaving is one thing, but you can't learn from a master if they're no good at _teaching_ their craft!”

 **“Wise words from a wise ghost,”** the forest's ruler remarked with a sagely nod.

The weaver moved over to the cloth on the loom. “I believe that I've taught you all that I know about weaving,” he suddenly realized. He turned to the Snatcher with a smile that practically _oozed_ with pride, but was also a bit wistful. “Looks like I can't teach you anything else.”

The specter raised a nonexistent eyebrow as an amused smile crossed his face. **“Hey, just because I know everything there is to know about weaving, now, doesn't mean I won't come over to help out 'the master', anymore!”**

Chuckling slightly, William glided over and placed a hand on the taller ghost's shoulder. “I know,” he said, “I'm just going to miss having something to teach you.”

**“William,** _**please,”** _ the Snatcher countered, **“there's** _**always** _ **something to learn from someone. Even if it's not through** _**talking,** _ **you can learn by** _**watching!”** _

At that, the weaver raised his ghostly brow and held his chin. “You make an excellent point,” he hummed. “Well, in that case, how about you help me out, next week? Horace needs some new silk woven for some new outfits he's designing.”

 **“I would be** _**honored,”** _ was the Snatcher's response as he placed a hand against his chest.

The two ghosts grinned at each other, before the Snatcher heard the faint sound of the grandfather clock echoing from his tree home.

  
  


_Twelve o' clock._

  
  


**“Lunch time, already?”** The specter blinked, surprised at how quickly the time had gone by.

William floated over to the front door, opening it up. “Well, I'd say that a hard morning's work deserves a well-earned lunch, wouldn't you agree?”

A fanged grin stretched clear across the phantom's face. Within seconds, the weaver and the ghostly noble were out the door and on their way to what would undoubtedly be a delightful meal prepared by Ophelia.

* * *

Though Subcon Forest was peaceful, there was a _palpable_ energy in the air, exuded by the masked spirits that sat through their lessons with eager anticipation.

  
  


It was only natural that they would be so excited; the ruler of the forest _had_ left them on a bit of a cliffhanger, the day before.

  
  


The moment the clock chimed two-thirty, the children darted through the air to their homes to complete their homework- which the Snatcher had to remind the children to _take their time,_ as they were rushing to get their assignments done! Once it turned three, and all of the children had finished their homework, they all gathered up near the gigantic skull near the village.

While gliding over to sit down in front of the children, the specter quickly noticed Zacharias laying back on the skull, once again.

“Thought I'd drop in on story-time, again. Hope you don't mind!” The miller grinned widely, their head upside-down as they directed their focus to the inky ghost.

**“Not at all- I was going to get you, if you weren't already here!”** he replied, settling himself down on the earth. **"Although, I was worried you might not come..."**

“Why wouldn't I? After that cliffhanger, I'm _hooked!”_

  
  


The shadowy ghost had a _good reason_ for why he thought Zacharias might not have come.

Just yesterday- the day after the Snatcher had to abruptly pause the story due to how late it was- Zacharias had emerged from their home, somewhat groggy and a bit irritable. It wasn't even the usual irritation that Zacharias would have, whenever someone stopped them from pulling a prank or pointed out that they were exaggerating about something. The kind of irritation he saw in the miller, yesterday, was the kind that you would see in someone who was angry at the world, and would _snap_ at any slight annoyance.

Which they actually _did_ snap during breakfast, at one point, over Gwendolyn stirring her drink constantly. But the miller _swiftly_ apologized, the moment they realized what they had done.

Nonetheless, the miller's uncharacteristic change in behavior was rather... _unsettling._

Seeing Zacharias back to their usual, cheeky self relieved the Snatcher to no end. He laughed slightly, shaking his head as he glanced at them.

**“I am happy to hear that!”** was the phantom's response. **“The more, the merrier!”**

Rubbing his hands together, he swept his gaze over the children that stared eagerly at him. **“Now, where was I...?”** he mused, tapping his mouth with a finger briefly.

Susan's voice quickly answered for him.

  
  


_You went into a blizzard!_

  
  


He snapped his talon-like fingers. **“Ah, that's right!”** he recalled, **“Thank you, Susan!”**

Clasping his hands together, the Snatcher's eyes narrowed as he resumed the tale.

**“So, with Aizat by my side, we both ran headlong into the blizzard- and let me tell you right now, kids, it was _horrible!_ We couldn't see the courtyard's wall, or the gate, or anything! I knew the keep was behind us, of course, which meant the gate was straight ahead, but that was the _only_ indication we had of which direction we were going in...”**

* * *

Wind-blown snowflakes whipped around the two boys as they fought their way through the howling blizzard. Their cloaks flapped violently around them, their gloved hands tightly holding the ends together to keep in what warmth they could. Endless flurries hid the courtyard from view, leaving the two boys barely able to see ahead of themselves, and unable to determine how far from the gate they were. The only way the prince knew where they were was the fact that there were still faint impressions of footprints in the snow, heading towards where they had come from.

Unfortunately, the high winds of the snowstorm and the heavy snowfall were making quick work of their only guide towards the gate.

  
  


“AUREOLA!” Aizat yelled, “CAN YOU HEAR US!?”

  
  


The whistling, roaring winds around them made it difficult to hear anything else.

  
  


The prince's face screwed up as he held a hand up to shield his eyes. “We need to keep going!” he shouted to Aizat.

The other boy furrowed his brow and nodded firmly at the noble.

The two pushed onward, yelling Aureola's name as they fought against the frigid storm. Everything around them was _pure white;_ _they couldn't see an inch in front of their faces._

“AUREOLA!” the boys screamed once more, hoping that the younger child could hear them.

  
  


Their only response came from the _raging_ gales.

  
  


Dread and fear _consumed_ the young prince.

What if they couldn't find Aureola? _What if something bad happened to them?_

**What if they froze to death!?**

_**What if-** _

Something faint appeared in front of them, approaching slowly from the veil of white.

The two boys squinted, trying to discern what it was, before a thought struck them both.

  
  


_That had to be-_

  
  


_“AUREOLA!”_ they both screamed in unison.

Adrenaline kicked in as the two boys rushed through the snow towards the figure, yelling as loudly as they could. Not even the biting cold could faze them as they ran as fast as they could towards the silhouette. Relief immediately _flooded_ them when they finally distinguished the tiny form of Aureola, quivering profusely as they walked towards the boys.

The two immediately hugged the younger child, laughing joyously as they smiled at their friend.

“We were _so_ worried!” Aizat cried, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

The prince's brow furrowed upwards as they smiled, overjoyed to see Aureola. But it soon faded when he realized what state they were in.

Their pale face was tinged a slight red underneath the hood of their cloak, which was _completely soaked_ with melting snow. Celestial blue eyes stared at the two boys, wide from fear and threatening to tear up at any second.

  
  


One glance shared between the two boys said all they needed to say to each other.

  
  


Acting quickly, the boys pulled the ends of their cloaks open and wrapped their arms around Aureola, shielding the child from the blizzard with their cloaks. The prince's left arm went over Aizat's right arm behind Aureola's back, while the two boys pulled the other ends of their cloaks over and held them together with their free hands.

“Everything's going to be okay!” the prince shouted to Aureola.

“We'll get you back to the keep!” Aizat yelled over the roar of the wind.

Aureola shivered as the two boys helped them along through the thick snow.

  
  


All three children shuddered as the blizzard grew worse, tearing through the courtyard and biting through their cloaks and winter clothing with unmatched ferocity. All around them, snow whirled and cut, seeping into their clothes as it gathered upon them.

The three of them huddled as close together as they possibly could, fighting with all of their might to push through the wall of snow and reach the keep. Wind whistled in their freezing ears, snow flew into their eyes, and a faint, frosty layer of powder soon gathered upon their shoulders. Each gust of snow-filled wind threatened to swallow them whole, battering the poor children with ruthless cold.

  
  


Without warning, Aureola's legs buckled underneath themselves, their shaking _so violent_ that **they could no longer stand.**

  
  


The prince and Aizat acted quickly to keep the younger child from falling into the snow.

“It's okay, Aureola!” Aizat reassured the frightened child. “W-We're almost there!”

A quiet whine from Aureola was all that the boys could hear from them. Worry consumed both of the older children's features as they glanced at one another.

“I-If we have to carry you back, w-we will!” Aizat stuttered, clenching the ends of his cape tightly.

  
  


The prince was worried; he could _tell_ Aureola couldn't walk any farther.

  
  


_What were they going to do...?_

  
  


He heard something in the distance.

The boy blinked, turning his head to listen closely, trying to figure out what the noise was.

  
  


A voice faintly echoed from in front of them, calling the prince's name.

  
  


His eyes grew _enormous_ as he recognized who it _belonged to._

  
  


_“FATHER! WE'RE OVER HERE!!”_ he screamed at the top of his lungs, his hope renewed as he spotted a tall figure approaching.

Aizat whipped his head up the moment the prince shouted, spotting the silhouette through the rapid snowfall. A wide smile stretched across his face as he gently nudged Aureola.

 _“It's the king!”_ he excitedly told the younger child, “You see? Everything's going to be okay!”

Aureola gasped as they peered over the boys' arms to see the king emerge from the curtain of frost, trembling violently from the cold air.

The prince smiled widely as the king wasted no time in kneeling down and pulling the three children close.

“There you are!” the man practically cried in relief. “Thank _heavens...”_

The prince quickly wrapped an arm the best he could around his father, the other still around Aureola to shelter them from the wind. Aizat followed his lead, embracing the king and laughing shakily from relief.

Aureola whined again, shuddering as the cold **tore** through their drenched clothes.

The prince's eyes snapped _wide open_ as he pulled away from the monarch. “Aureola can't walk, any further!” he frantically shouted above the wind's roars.

  
  


The relieved smile on the king's face faded upon hearing that news.

  
  


“All right; _hold on!”_

  
  


Both of the boys _yelped_ as they and little Aureola were suddenly lifted into the air. All three of the children found themselves held up against the ruler's chest with one arm, while the other wrapped one end of his billowing cloak around them all.

  
  


The young prince didn't remember what happened during the trek back. The moment they were all sheltered from the cold underneath his father's cloak, his mind went _blank_ as he finally registered the cold that was **digging** into him.

  
  


For a few moments, he could hear muffled voices around him, before he finally felt his feet touch the ground.

  
  


Light flooded his sight as the massive cloak suddenly opened, revealing the warm glow of candles in the keep's entrance hall. The prince blinked a few times, before he felt a weight on his shoulder.

Turning his head, he realized his father's hand was on his shoulder, the other being placed on Aizat's.

“Are you three all right?” the king asked the three children.

Both of the boys nodded quickly, shivering greatly, but fortunately not numb.

A small hiccup from Aureola surprised the boys and the monarch as the younger child started _sobbing._ Frightened wailing filled the great hall- not loud, by any means, but _certainly_ loud, coming from the younger child- as their freezing frame shook with each cry.

Aizat and the prince ignored their own shaking the moment their friend began crying.

“Aizat, can you get their cloak off?” the prince asked.

“On it!” the boy replied to the prince, carefully removing the now-dripping cloak from Aureola's shoulders.

The prince quickly took off his own cloak- shuddering as it was removed- only to discover that it, too, was soaked by melted snow.

Aizat glanced at the prince's dripping cloak and quickly went to remove his own, only to discover that his cloak was in a similar state.

As the two boys glanced at each other and wondered what to do, the king gently pat their shoulders and smiled reassuringly.

The two children found themselves hesitantly stepping back to let the monarch handle the situation.

Calm as could be, the prince's father gently picked the crying child up, and held them against his chest.

“It's okay, now. Let it all out, little one,” he quietly soothed, petting the child's head.

The child clung as tightly to the noble as they could with their shivering, and sobbed into his shirt.

Both of the boys frowned and glanced worriedly at each other.

Before either of the boys could say anything, some of the castle's servants hurried in with towels, a couple of the workers wrapping them carefully around the two boys while one hurried over to the king.

“Thank you, Silvia.” The king nodded and smiled at Silvia as she held out the towel to him. As carefully as he could, the man shook the towel out and gently pried Aureola loose to wrap them up in the cloth, before he resumed comforting the upset child.

The prince and Aizat smiled gratefully as the warm towels were wrapped around themselves, and they, too, nodded at the servants and thanked them.

“Is there anything warm we can get them to drink?' the prince's father asked

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so I imagine so,” the servant quietly answered.

Smiling kindly, the king nodded once more. “Thank you,” he repeated, grateful for the help. He turned to the other two servants that were helping Aizat and the prince. “Would you mind helping the boys find some clean clothes?” he asked.

The servants bowed quickly, smiling at the two boys as they took them by the hand and led them into the great hall. The king followed close behind with Silvia as they all turned into an adjoining hallway and climbed up a staircase. Upon reaching the top, the two groups split apart, the two servants leading the prince and Aizat down one hall while Silvia, the king, and Aureola went down the other.

Both of the young boys looked back over their shoulders, their brows knitted.

“We'll be back _really_ soon, Aureola!” the prince called to the child, shivering slightly from his snow-drenched clothing.

“Y-Yeah!” Aizat stuttered, unable to get out more than that before shivering profusely.

Neither of the boys could tell if Aureola heard them, with the younger child's head buried in the monarch's chest. But the older children hoped that their friend had heard their calls.

However, the king _did_ hear them, and- for a brief second- he turned to look at the boys and smile at them, before focusing his gaze to the servant traveling with him.

“Are there any clothes that would fit Aureola?” he asked Sylvia.

Silvia furrowed her brow and thought. “It's difficult to say,” she admitted, “we might need to search through some of the old wardrobes.”

“I'll search around, as well,” the ruler said, “there's bound to be something that will fit them, _somewhere_ in the keep.”

Their voices faded as they went further down the hall and disappeared from sight.

  
  


Silently, the two boys shuddered and let themselves be lead in the opposite direction, all the while worrying about their friend.

After what felt like _ages,_ the two boys slowly walked into the drawing room, dressed in dry, warm clothing and with thick blankets wrapped around their shoulders. The warmth from the fireplace of the smaller room instantly swept over them, washing away the cold that clung to their bodies. Both of the boys sighed in relief, their eyes opening to take in the sight of countless children huddled together and bundled in blankets.

  
  


The moment the other children caught sight of the two boys, they all _stampeded_ towards them.

  
  


“Aizat! Your Highness!” Zacharias cried with a wide grin. “You made it inside!”

“You fought a _blizzard!”_ Anne cried, her eyes gleaming with delight as she balled her hands into fists. “That's _so cool!”_

“You were gone for a while,” Gwendolyn remarked with a frown.

“Are you all right?” Joseph asked, his eyes locked onto the two boys as worry sprung up on his features.

“Guys, w-we're fine,” Aizat reassured them, his teeth still chattering slightly as he waved a hand dismissively. “Just a bit c-cold...”

_“Boys!”_

The prince and Aizat looked over the crowd of children- which was now splitting apart- as the queen rushed straight over to them.

“Mother!” the young prince cried, his cold face flooding with joy as he and Aizat were wrapped into a tight hug.

“Oh, _thank heavens_ you two are all right...” she murmured, the worry that had been on her face melting away into joy as she looked over the two children. She frowned, however, when she saw the two boys trembling. “Come here by the fire- you two must be freezing!”

Neither of the boys protested as the queen gently took them both by the hand and led them over to the hearth. Almost immediately, both of the boys flopped down and smiled as the heat of the flames in the stone fireplace surrounded them.

“You two _shouldn't_ have gone into that blizzard,” the queen quietly told them, her tone worried yet kind.

Aizat nodded slightly, glancing away from the monarch, while the prince hung his head slightly.

“I know, mother. I'm sorry,” the young noble apologized. He suddenly raised his head back up to look his mother in the eye, and clenched his fists. “But we _couldn't_ leave Aureola out there, by themselves!”

Much to both of the boys' surprise, gentle hands rested themselves upon their heads.

The young prince blinked as the queen's eyes glistened with tears.

“I know you couldn't,” she whispered. “I was scared for you two; you rushed out into a _blizzard,_ for goodness' sake!”

The two boys shot each other a quick, guilt-filled glance as they frowned.

“But you're safe, and even though you put us all _beside ourselves with worry,_ I am _so proud_ of you two for acting so _selflessly.”_

The boys' turned their now-surprised gazes back to the queen, and saw a gentle smile on her rosy face.

The young noble felt his eyes watering. He sniffed and rubbed at them with his sleeve, before wrapping his arms tightly around the queen. Aizat followed suit, and soon the monarch held the two boys close for a long, long time.

  
  


As the three eventually pulled away from one another, a voice suddenly spoke up.

“Where's Aureola?”

The two boys turned to see the eyes of all of the children upon them.

“They're with His Majesty, right now,” Aizat told them.

The prince nodded, his worry now returning. “He's trying to find them dry clothes they can wear,” he added.

Relief flooded all of the children as they all huddled back together near the fire. All the while, the young prince sat next to Aizat, internally fretting about poor Aureola.

Would Aureola be all right? They were _so much younger_ than the two boys, which meant the cold affected the pallid child _more!_ They could get sick, or have _frostbite!_

Fortunately for the young boy, his fretting was interrupted when Silvia knocked on the drawing room's door.

  
  


“Dinner is ready,” she announced.

“Thank you, Silvia,” the queen replied, smiling and nodding at the servant, before turning to the children. “Well, let's get ready for dinner, shall we? I know the cooks have been working hard to prepare a _wonderful_ feast for everyone!”

All of the other children smiled excitedly as they all scrambled to their feet and hurried to the door.

Aizat and the prince slowly got up- still cold but somewhat better, thanks to the fireplace- and followed the children, the queen swiftly tagging along.

“Do you think Aureola's okay...?” Aizat whispered, apparently having the same worried thoughts on his mind as the young noble.

“I hope so,” the prince replied, concern clear on his face.

As they approached the great hall, the two boys heard the sounds of seemingly one-sided conversation. Glancing at one another, the boys both hurried along with the rest of the children, rushing into the great hall before anyone else and turning their heads towards the source of the familiar voice.

  
  


What they saw nearly made them both start _crying_ from _joy._

  
  


In front of the fireplace at the back of the great hall was the king, knelt down next to a chair placed at one end of a massively-long table. The monarch was smiling as he gently ruffled Aureola's red hair. The little one gaze up at him and nodded at what he said, every so often, still shaky despite the various blankets they were bundled up in. Their crying had ceased, and their face slightly red- most likely from washing their face, as no streaks from tears could be seen. Nonetheless, the poor child was still clearly shaken- both from the cold and from the whole ordeal they went through- as they gazed up at the ruler with sad eyes and the inner corners of their eyebrows drawn upwards.

  
  


Despite their friend's upset state, the two boys were _overjoyed_ to see them.

  
  


_“Aureola!”_ they cried with relief, dashing over to their friend's side.

The younger child quickly glanced up at the two boys, their eyes widening as their eyebrows raised in surprise. Aureola's eyes began filling with tears once again as the prince and Aizat quickly threw their arms around them.

“Are you okay?” the prince quickly asked.

“We were _really_ worried about you!” Aizat exclaimed.

They had been just about ready to fire off more questions, but upon pulling away to look at their friend, their own brows furrowed with worry as they saw the tears pooling in Aureola's eyes.

Both of the boys glanced at each other, frowning for a moment, before they tried to smile as they focused back on their friend.

“Hey, it's okay,” consoled the prince, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to the younger child.

Aureola blinked a few times, before shakily reaching a hand out from the blanket bundle to take the cloth and wipe her eyes with it.

Aizat smiled and gently mussed up Aureola's hair. Aureola closed their eyes in response, before glancing up at the boy.

“We all made it through, see?” he said with a smile, motioning to all of the children that were now filing into the great hall.

Aureola sniffled as they turned to the children that were now staring at them.

  
  


In just a few seconds, the crowd of children all ran over to the chair, excitedly crying and speaking at the same time over one another.

  
  


“Aureola, you're all right!”

“What happened to you?”

“Are you okay? You look all red!”

“I'm _so sorry,_ Aureola! I thought you were right behind me!”

  
  


Aureola glanced down at one of the older children that had reached up to give them a hug. The younger child blinked for a moment, before smiling slightly.

Neither the prince nor Aizat could tell which child was saying what; the whole group of children were talking at once and crowding around the chair!

“All right, children, let's calm down!” the king suddenly said, standing up straight from where he had been leaning on the back of Aureola's chair. Once the children had all quieted down, he smiled cheerfully and clasped his hands together. “Dinner will be served in just a minute, so let's take a seat!”

  
  


All of the children quickly hurried to sit down, taking seats in the countless chairs placed around the long table.

  
  


The prince and Aizat took the seats closest to Aureola, sitting beside the still-shivering child.

The queen- who had entered the room, moments prior- quickly strode over to Aureola's chair and knelt down next to the child, asking the child quiet questions like “Are you all right, little one?” and “How are you feeling?”, while the prince's father moved over to the prince and Aizat.

“I can't say that I _encourage_ you two running out into the middle of a blizzard,” the man seriously.

“We're _really_ sorry,” Aizat quietly apologized.

The prince nodded quickly. “We couldn't-”

“I know,” the king suddenly interrupted, ruffling both of the boys' hair. “I was concerned for your safety, but I'm proud of you two, at the same time.”

The two boys tilted their heads back to look up at the king, smiling brightly at the monarch.

Grinning slightly, himself, the king stood back up just as the queen did. She turned to him and frowned slightly, before placing a hand against the side of his face.

“Dear, you're _cold as ice,”_ she hummed with worry, “Come along, let's sit down for a minute.”

He chuckled slightly. “As you wish,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye, allowing his wife to guide him to some available chairs.

Aureola quietly handed the handkerchief back to the prince, saying only a small “Thank you”.

The prince cheerfully smiled back, stowing the cloth away.

  
  


Just then, the cooks walked in with platters upon platters of _delectable_ food, placing everything upon the middle of the table, yet within easy reach of the children. Tankards of hot cocoa were placed near the children's plates, and the piles of food filled the room with delicious smells.

  
  


Aizat's mouth watered slightly, the prince's eyes _gleamed_ with delight, and Aureola's eyes grew _gigantic._

Joseph had to hold back Zacharias from trying to grab food from one of the platters the moment it was placed on the table.

Anne was practically vibrating in her chair, while Gwendolyn turned to patiently watch the two monarchs and wait.

The king and queen smiled at one another, very briefly. Once the last of the platters had been placed upon the table, the royal couple turned their attention back to the children.

“Enjoy, children!” the queen declared.

  
  


Within seconds, the children were all politely- but _eagerly-_ putting different food on their plates to eat. Anne was piling her plate high with meat, Gwendolyn grabbed some warm pies, and Joseph let go of Zacharias' arm so the two could grab some roasted chicken.

  
  


Aizat politely placed some mashed potatoes and some steak, while the prince quickly grabbed some pork chops and carrots.

The young noble began cutting his pork chops into tiny pieces as he glanced over at Aureola, who had reached out for their tankard of cocoa. The child held the tankard in their trembling hands as they lowered their head, taking in the warmth that radiated from the liquid inside, before they slowly sipped at it. He noticed how the child seemed to shrink into the blankets wrapped around themselves, like they didn't want to leave the warmth the thick cloth provided.

Aizat glanced over and noticed there was no food on the younger child's plate. His brow furrowed, before he directed his attention to Aureola.

“Aureola, do you want some help with getting food?” the boy offered.

The younger child glanced up at the boy, before they nodded slightly.

The prince put down his knife and fork as he smiled gently at them. “What do you want?” he asked.

Their puffy eyes blinked a few times as they glanced around at the various foods on the table.

“... Steak and mashed potatoes, please...” they quietly mumbled.

  
  


Joyful conversation filled the great hall as the children all ate and drank their cocoa, while the prince and Aizat helped Aureola fill their plate with the food that they wanted. Eventually, the chatter grew as the children told stories to one another, and the two boys and Aureola began eating. The king and queen watched the children, at times telling exciting stories to the wide-eyed children, while some of the little ones whispered to one another, telling each other secrets.

Once the children had eaten all of the wonderful food they could, the cooks quickly brought in warm, steaming desserts to replace the cleaned-off platters. Sweet smells of cakes, pies, cookies, tarts, and other sweets wafted from the middle of the table, and all of the children quickly picked out their favorite treats to eat!

Aizat immediately took notice of some chocolate cake nearby and quickly grabbed a slice, a huge smile stretching across his face.

The prince's eyes gleamed with delight as he took a piece of pie from one of the platters.

After spending so long in their blanket bundle, Aureola slowly reached out and grabbed a cookie from a nearby platter, before pulling their arm back to nibble on it.

Zacharias' eyes wandered over to Aureola, before darting to a nearby caramel-covered apple slice. A figurative light bulb lit up above the wisteria-eyed child's head as as they grabbed the apple slice and tapped Joseph's shoulder.

“Hey, I have an idea!” they whispered, “Can you help out?”

While Aureola somberly ate their cookie, their attention was suddenly grabbed as Joseph go their attention with a quiet “Hey, Aureola!” and motioned over to Zacharias.

Aureola watched as Zacharias lifted their head up, quickly turned their head towards the younger child, and smiled, revealing nothing but the apple slice for their teeth!

The prince and Aizat caught sight of this and held their hands over their mouths, trying hard to restrain their laughter!

Aureola's somber expression shifted to a small smile. Their eyes crinkled as they quietly laughed at Zacharias' silly apple smile!

All the while, Zacharias quickly closed their mouth and chewed up the apple slice, looking _very proud_ of themselves for cheering Aureola up.

These antics didn't go unnoticed by the prince's parents... but they glanced at each other with amusement in their eyes and kind smiles on the faces, glad to see the children helping lift everyone's spirits.

  
  


Time seemed to pass by as delightful stories were regaled, jokes told, and lively conversation ensued, and their empty plates and tankards were taken away to be cleaned.

* * *

_I can't believe you got to eat at the castle, Zacharias!_

  
  


Anthony's voice rang clear in the Snatcher's senses.

All of the serpentine children were staring at Zacharias, wonder flowing from their spiritual beings.

The red ghost crossed their arms and closed their eyes as a proud grin crossed their face. “Aw, it was no big deal!” the miller stated, a hint of boastful glee in their tone. They soon opened an eye to glance at the children. “But we all didn't just get the _eat_ at the castle, either!”

The Snatcher could _feel_ the children's excited whispering to one another as Logan skeptically tilted the bull mask attached to his body and asked an obviously-doubtful question.

  
  


_What else did you do?_

  
  


His glowing eyes filled with amusement, the specter of Subcon Forest glanced over to Zacharias. **“I think that's your cue to be the narrator, for a bit.”**

That was all the confirmation Zacharias needed to rub their hands and grin eagerly. “Well, what happened was...”

* * *

The combination of the fireplace, the blankets, the wonderful food they ate, and the warm, sweet cocoa they drank had a profound effect on the children. After some time of chatting, the little ones slowly grew calmer and sleepy!

Zacharias yawned, rubbing their wisteria eyes as they glanced around the table. They glanced at the prince, and could instantly tell the noble was feeling somewhat drowsy, himself. One glance at Aizat revealed the boy was having slight difficulty with keeping his eyes open, while a look at Aureola brought the sight of drooping eyelids and a slowly lowering head as they held their undoubtedly-cold, half-finished tankard of cocoa in their tiny hands.

Slowly, Zacharias lowered their head onto the table, the sound of the king's energetic story-telling filling their head...

  
  


_A small clock in the great hall chimed nine times._

  
  


The chimes quickly made the king stop in the middle of the story he was telling as he glanced at the clock.

“Goodness, would you look at the time?” he gasped, his brow raised in surprise. “We should get you children home.”

Loud, groggy protests of “Noooo...!” burst from the children, not wanting the exciting visit to end.

Zacharias lifted their head up from the table and sleepily frowned. “But the story...!” they started to argue, before they interrupted themselves with a loud yawn.

“Well, we'll have to finish the story tomorrow, won't we?” the queen was quick to suggest. She slowly stood up from the table and smiled kindly at the children, before turning to her husband. “I'll get their cloaks, if you can get them on their feet.”

“That won't be too difficult, I don't think!” he replied, winking at his wife.

Amusement plain on her rosy face, the queen made her way to the doors behind the table and went out into the entrance hall.

Joyfully, the king clasped his hands together. “All right, children,” he exclaimed, standing up from his chair, “Let's get on our feet; we have quite a ways to-”

The doors to the entrance hall suddenly _flew open_ as the queen briskly walked back into the room.

All of the children watched through half-lidded eyes as the king turned around to see the queen hurrying over to his side.

“My love, what's wrong?” he quietly inquired, his tone carrying clear worry.

“Dear, come look outside,” she urgently whispered.

The king turned around, putting on a reassuring smile for the children. “Stay here, everyone!” he told them all, “We'll be back in but a moment!”

With that, the king quickly left for the entrance hall with the queen.

  
  


Almost immediately, everyone at the table began murmuring to one another.

  
  


“What's going on?”

“I don't know...”

“Are we gonna go home, now?”

 _“Quiet, Anne!_ Maybe they'll let us stay for a bit longer if we _don't remind them!”_

  
  


Zacharias glanced around at the table of murmuring children, before sliding out from their chair and sneakily sprinting over to the entrance hall's doors. The wisteria-eyed child pressed their ear against the door, finding they could faintly hear the voices of the monarch on the other side.

What were the royals saying? _The child couldn't tell with all of the whispering from the other kids!_

  
  


_“Quiet!”_ Zacharias loudly whispered at the other children.

  
  


The entire table fell silent as Zacharias pressed their ear up against a wooden door, again.

  
  


_“- storm's getting worse...”_ came the king's voice from the other side of the door.

 _“What will we do? We can't take the children out in this!”_ the queen quietly exclaimed.

 _“You're right. Fortunately, we can thank the former rulers of Subcon for building us an elaborate keep with plentiful bedrooms meant for guests!”_ he heartily mentioned.

 _“Thank goodness for them!”_ she laughed.

* * *

_You guys got to sleep in the castle!?_

  
  


Denise's was _shocked_ as they stared at Zacharias.

“That's right!” replied the miller, their grin wide and proud.

The children were amazed. They had _never_ slept in a castle, before!

  
  


_What happened next?_

  
  


This time, it was Anthony who asked that question.

Zacharias closed their eyes as they confidently leaned back. “Well, I crept back to my seat _just before_ the king and queen came back to the great hall-”

“That's not what happened!” a sudden voice yelled from behind them.

All of the children whipped their heads around as Joseph suddenly emerged from the trees, his arms cross and an eyebrow raised as he shook his head at Zacharias.

A frown stretched across Zacharias' face a second later. “What are you talking about?” they asked the light-green ghost.

The clockmaker leaned against a tree, a smile stretching across his face as disbelief shined in his jade eyes. “You didn't even get _three steps_ away from the door when the king and queen walked back in!” he revealed.

The children all turned their heads toward Zacharias, whose frown was deepening. Annoyance quickly etched itself across the miller's face as they _glared_ at Joseph.

“I got _more_ than three steps away!” they immediately argued, an indignant tone laced in their voice.

**“Actually, I think Joseph is right,”** the Snatcher realized, holding a hand up to his figurative chin. **“You _did_ get caught by my parents...”**

  
  


The children all giggled at the scene, while Zacharias appeared _utterly irritated._

“Can't you guys let me _embellish,_ a little bit?” they grumbled, brow furrowed and a scowl on their face.

The Snatcher couldn't hold back a slight chuckle. _Poor Zacharias..._

Joseph floated up to the skull, crossed his arms, and with a smug grin his face, responded with a simple quip.

“Sorry, Zachy, but I'm _legally obligated_ to annoy you, right now!”

  
  


_It happened in the blink of an eye._

  
  


A loud, _furious_ growl erupted from Zacharias, devolving into an aggravated yell as they **launched** themselves right at Joseph. The poor clockmaker yelped as the two ghosts landed on the ground and rolled around, the miller's hands tightly clutching the the startled ghost's shoulders. The children scattered, their silent screams easily sensed by the Snatcher as he watched the events unfold _so quickly_ in front of him!

“ZACHARIAS, _WHAT THE HECK!?”_ Joseph screamed, his voice high-pitched as he found himself rolling around like a log.

“WHY CAN'T YOU LET ME HAVE _ONE SMALL EXAGGERATION!?”_ roared Zacharias, finally ending the spinning as they pinned Joseph against the ground.

It was the fist that Zacharias raised into the air that called the ruler into action.

  
  


_**“ENOUGH!!!”** _

  
  


A gigantic hand **snatched** Zacharias right off of Joseph. The miller's eyes became _pinpricks_ as their gaze soon found the sight of none other than the Snatcher, now _much more massive_ than he had been, moments ago.

Joseph slowly rose up, trembling from nearly being punched by the person that was basically his _sibling,_ his wide-eyed gaze quickly locking onto the towering ghost.

_Fiery_ **fury** was in the phantom's eyes as they **_narrowed_** at the red ghost.

  
  


The _terror_ on Zacharias' face was what snapped him out of his rage-filled state.

  
  


Closing his eyes, the maned ghost sighed and released the miller from his grasp. Gradually, the forest's ruler shrank down back to his usual height.

**“Zacharias, what is going on with you, today?”** the Snatcher quietly asked, his yellow eyes opening back up to gaze at them. **“First you snap at Gwendolyn, and now _this?”_**

Zacharias was silent for a good few seconds, glancing between Joseph, the children cowering among the tree branches, and the somber face of the ghostly prince.

A brief moment of realization struck the miller as they quickly realized what they had _almost_ done, and they lowered their head, their wisteria eyes focused on their clenched fist.

“... I'm going to bed,” they muttered, floating off towards the village.

Stunned, the Snatcher extended a hand out towards them. **“Zacharias-”**

_“I'M GOING. TO BED!”_

  
  


The sudden yell made him recoil as the ghostly miller flew off. Both Joseph and the Snatcher winced as they heard a door slam in the village.

“I... shouldn't have teased them so much, I guess...” Joseph mumbled, their shoulders slump and head hanging slightly, before they scratched the back of their neck and turned to the Snatcher. “I'm _really_ sorry, Snatcher. I'll apologize to them, right now.”

  
  


**“Wait.”**

  
  


Joseph paused as the specter suddenly placed a hand on the clockmaker's shoulder.

**“Talk to them in the morning,”** the Snatcher murmured, his fanged mouth only a thin, straight line as he stared at Joseph. **“They need some time to calm down.”**

After a moment, Joseph nodded. “Yeah... sorry for ruining the story, I didn't mean to-”

**“I know, Joseph. I know.”**

  
  


With a heavy sigh, the specter turned to the children hiding in the trees.

 **“Come along, children.”** He beckoned for the children to follow. **“We will continue the story, another time.”**

Timidly, the children all floated down from the mostly-bare branches and huddled around the maned spirit, many of them shaken from what happened, and some- _Penelope, especially-_ tearing up from the frightening event.

Joseph frowned at that, before reaching over to pat Penelope's head. “Hey, it'll be fine,” he told the child, gently patting their head. “Zacharias is... a _bit_ cranky, but I'm sure they're just tired. That's why you need to go to sleep on time, kiddo.”

Penelope slowly lifted their head to look up at Joseph, tears streaming from their mask's eyes.

  
  


_You think so...?_

  
  


“Yeah, I know so,” Joseph replied, feigning a certain smile. “ _Anyone_ would be cranky if they didn't get enough sleep, at night.”

Slowly, their eyes stopped watering as they nodded slightly.

The sight made the specter's mood lighten considerably. A faint smile now forming upon his face, the Snatcher turned his attention to all of the children.

 **“How about we go see if Ophelia will let us bake something, hm?”** he suggested.

A loud chorus of _“Yeah!”_ s filled the Snatcher's senses as the children all chimed in.

Joseph sent him a cheerful glance, which the phantom gratefully returned.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!” Joseph quietly cheered.

Countless silent voices cheering in his senses brought the specter a _great_ amount of relief and joy. With the children following close behind, and Joseph floating next to him, the Snatcher made his way back to the village.

  
  


Though he allowed himself to relax, in the corners of his shadowy mind, he couldn't help but wonder if Zacharias was okay.

* * *

Inside of their tree-stump home, Zacharias sat at their desk. The nib of their quill scratched at the parchment as they wrote, pausing only to dip it into fresh ink. Their free hand scratched the back of their head as they grumbled to themselves, trying to focus on recording their thoughts.

“This is new... suddenly angry over something small, again- even though Joseph _was_ being a _little bit irritating-”_  
  
Zacharias shook their head, trying to rid themselves of that thought. “'Couldn't go out to the lab, the past two nights,'” they murmured, resuming their writing, “'Julio and Frederick stayed in the lab all night to watch the cultivars, and then Snatcher was up all night in the lab, working on more blue potions to use on the spiders...'”

They paused, their hand tightly gripping the quill for a brief second. _“Of all the rotten luck...”_ murmured the miller.

Suddenly, they hit their forehead with their hand. “No, _focus!_ Write this all down.”

Though they were a ghost, they took a deep breath and continued writing.

“'Joseph came by during story-time, today, and ruined my turn with story-telling by telling the kids I had gotten caught eavesdropping. Which was a _stupid_ thing to do, Joseph you _son of a-'”_

Wisteria eyes snapped wide open as Zacharias stopped themselves, realizing what they were writing. “No, _no,_ stop!” the miller hissed, their features contorting in frustration as they hit their forehead with their fist a few times. A sharp inhale through their nonexistent teeth steadied them enough to scratch out the last sentence they wrote, before they resumed writing.

“'Got angry over that, lunged at Joseph, and nearly _punched_ him. Snatcher stopped me just in time. Need to thank him later, and apologize to Joseph.'”

The quill grew still, before Zacharias continued writing.

“'Senses are getting stronger, but I'm _clearly_ showing signs of aggression. So far, these are the only symptoms I've been having. I don't know if they will go away or get worse, but I don't want to take any chances. I almost punched Joseph- my _brother-”'_

Their nonexistent breath hitched. They clutched at their black hair and tried to calm down.

“'I don't think anyone will be in the laboratory, tonight. I'll get more, once everyone's in bed.'”

  
  


A few more minutes were spent writing down what the miller had felt that day, before they ran out of things to write about. Slowly, they closed their eyes, focusing on their surroundings as they went into a meditative state.

“Once he's gone to bed,” Zacharias told themselves. “Once he's... gone to bed.”

  
  


They sealed the inkwell, put the quill away, and placed the parchment on top of some torn pages inside of their magically-protected nightstand drawer.


	33. The Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is difficult to tame such a violent storm.

* * *

**Two Months Later...**

* * *

  
  


_He had to admit, he was starting to **dislike** these meetings._

  
  


**“I already told you, Isaic, I have _tried_ to get them out of the swamp. I _cannot_ get them out!”** the currently-human Snatcher reminded the desert's ruler.

Sitting around the massive table were the leaders of countries the world over, all of them gathered to discuss further trade between one another. Unfortunately, once it came around to Subcon's requests for trade, things became a little... _stressful,_ when the desert's current ruler heard some of the trades the prince wished to cautiously conduct.

Isaic had wasted no time with making one specific request that they wanted fulfilled, before he agreed to any further trades with the forest's inhabitants: _for Subcon Forest to return the bodies of the battaile to the Sunburnt._

The specter normally wouldn't call _any_ member of the former desert kingdom Sunburnt, but the desert's ruler had _specifically_ said that their species intended to refer to themselves by the old name in the hopes of giving it a more positive meaning- and requested that the other rulers do the same.

Isaic tented his two-fingered hands, his gaze focusing on the prince. “But why not? Surely it is not _that_ difficult to get some bodies out of a _swamp,_ is it? Especially considering the fact you are...”

He gestured to the specter with a hand. “You know, a _ghost.”_

**“While you are right that it should _not_ be hard,”** the human specter agreed, **“the thing is, there is _something_ in the swamp that is keeping me from pulling them out, be it physically _or_ with my powers!”**

“So you have _said,”_ the desert's leader acknowledged. He pointed at the prince as he continued. “But with what you have told us, you have found a means to keep the former queen sealed inside the manor, yet you cannot find a way to pull _bodies_ out of a _swamp?”_

  
  


The rulers of the other countries nervously sat around the table, some adjusting the collars of their shirts while others adjusted their cuffs as they listened to the tense discussion.

  
  


**“The magic that we have is _only temporary,”_** the Snatcher reiterated, restrained and serious as he held in his growing irritation with a straight face. **“Which is why I asked if you could spare some tomes from your kingdom to help us with finding a more _permanent_ solution.”**

Isaic netted his fingers together, his yellow eyes peering at the human ghost. “While I would be willing to trade some of our tomes with you,” the Sunburnt began, “we need to repair some bridges, first. The people of my kingdom are still rather... _upset,_ about the fate of the battaile. I cannot- in good conscience- trade tomes with Subcon _without_ finding a way to appease their frustrations.”

  
  


Appease _their_ frustrations? _He_ was getting frustrated!

  
  


The prince inhaled deeply, clasping his hands together tightly and resting them on the table. **“I understand that,”** he carefully said, holding back the annoyance that threatened to leak into his tone. **“But if you were to supply us with new tomes, there _might_ be something in them that we could use to safely retrieve the soldiers' bodies.”**

  
  


For a brief moment, Isaic said nothing. He held a hand up to his unseen chin as he mulled the prince's words over.

The Snatcher was quiet, his lips thin as his gaze remained upon the Sunburnt.

  
  


The other rulers held their breath.

  
  


“Very well; I will see what tomes the mages have that they can send over,” the desert's leader relented.

  
  


The rest of the table released silent sighs of relief, the tension in their features visibly relaxing.

  
  


“In the meantime, we will need some goods from Subcon that we can trade the tomes for, until you are able to retrieve the bodies of the battaile,” Isaic continued.

For the first time in that meeting, a faint smile formed on the Snatcher's face.

**“That is reasonable enough; what would you like?”**

* * *

Outside of the capitol building of the country, the villagers of Subcon took to the streets, chatting with one another as they walked along in groups. The children stayed close together, their serpentine bodies hidden by their cloak as they kept low to the ground and followed along with the adults.

Unfortunately, the little ones looked more like they were _gliding_ along the ground rather than _walking,_ thanks to their lack of legs. Fortunately, William was quick on his feet to come up with an excuse-

“The children all learn how to dance around like they're gliding, and they're _so used_ to it that they glide while they're walking!” he had explained with a nonchalant smile.

\- and no one bothered to give the children's odd stride a second glance, after that.

Lagging behind one of the groups was Zacharias, their shoulders slumped, their head lowered, and their feet scraping along the ground as they walked. The miller didn't even bother to look up at anyone as they passed by, keeping their gaze focused on the earth below. In front of them, they could hear Diana, William, Joseph, and Gwendolyn casually chatting to each other as they led their designated group of children along, and they could hear the energetic voice of Anne telling the excited children a story.

  
  


The past couple of months had been long and hard, for Zacharias. After almost punching Joseph, they had waited for a _long_ time to get into the laboratory when no one else was around.

It was a _major_ relief, when they finally did. Their behavior improved, and they were back to their usual self; proud, confident, cheeky, mischievous, and a _bit_ of a troublemaker!

Which was fortunate, as the next day, traders and merchants arrived by the _dozens._ They all had to stay around for a while to replenish their supplies, so everyone in the village had been busy working hard to make even _more_ goods to trade with them, including the Snatcher.

Unfortunately, story-time with the kids had to be postponed, during that time; it got postponed further after the merchants left, due to Julio and Clarence returning to Subcon with letters from the nomads, the next day. The Snatcher spent that time entertaining Clarence with tea and conversation while updating them about everything going on. Then, a few days later, once Clarence had left with correspondence meant for the ruler of their country, the phantom of the forest had to deal with an _unexpected_ spider infestation in the well!

Everyone ended up forgetting about the unfinished story, due to everything that was going on; even the _kids!_

But those things happened, right? Zacharias took it all in stride, enjoying the days and working hard at night recording their thoughts and observations. Of course, as time went on, they had an incident or two where they became irritable again, but those were _very_ rare times.

  
  


Except for the past week.

  
  


Zacharias had noticed their irritable behavior almost immediately, the first day, and decided it was time to pay the lab another visit. When they tried to get into the lab that night, however, Frederick and Julio were there, studying the cultivars closely.

“We're trying to see if we can get the glowing plants to grow on something aside from dead wood,” Julio had explained to the miller, “so Frederick and I are staying up to do a bit of experimenting.”

Zacharias had shrugged and wished them luck as they left the tower, deciding they would just go to the lab the next night.

  
  


Except Julio and Frederick were there the next night. And the next. _And the next._

  
  


Zacharias had slowly grown more irritable, during that time. Even though they apologized to anyone that they suddenly snapped at, the miller had found themselves getting more and more _annoyed_ and _angry._ They started distancing themselves from the others, trying to avoid flying off the handle at any of the unaware ghosts, all the while waiting for an opportunity to sneak into the laboratory so they could fix the problem they were having.

  
  


One week later, they still hadn't been able to find some time alone in the tower.

Though they were getting somewhat better about not snapping around people- which they probably had the whole week of practice holding back their anger to thank for that!- the miller was still in a rather _testy_ mood.

  
  


Anne's _high-pitched chattering_ wasn't helping matters, either.

  
  


“- and then I grabbed the statue's head, and SMASHED IT INTO A SOLDIER! It. Was. _AWESOME!”_ Anne loudly exclaimed, recalling the story of how the entire village had fought off Shady's battaile.

  
  


_Whoa!_

_That's so cool, Anne!_

_You really beat up the bad guys, didn't you?_

  
  


The children's silent exclamations were heard only by the currently-human ghosts, who all smiled at one another as Anne energetically told the tale.

  
  


_Everyone except Zacharias, that is._

  
  


“Then Zacharias went over and _YANKED_ a spear from one guy with their guisarme!” the cobbler continued, suddenly darting over to the miller and- _much to their dismay-_ wrapping her arm around their shoulder. She smiled widely at him with uncontrollable energy. “Right, Zacharias?”

Zacharias held back the annoyance that tried to etch itself onto their as they forced a smile. “Yeah, I- I really did,” the miller confirmed, their eyebrows furrowing upwards as they glanced between the kids and Anne.

Anne _beamed_ at the miller, before she suddenly pulled her arm away and pointed at a nearby store.

_“Hey!”_ she suddenly yelled, causing Zacharias to jolt slightly. “I think that bookstore has some candy!”

All of a sudden, she furrowed her brow. “A _bookstore_ selling _food?”_ she realized, nudging the already-cranky miller. “Sna- _His Highness_ would have a _fit!”_

Despite their annoyance, Zacharias _fought_ to keep a straight face. “Y-Yeah, he certainly would,” they replied, rubbing at the back of their neck.

Anne suddenly gasped as her carnelian eyes sparkled. “I think I see some tomes in there!” the girl loudly announced, causing some of the other ghostly adults- and quite a few random passersby- to turn and stare.

  
  


Zacharias _swore_ they felt a nonexistent vein _pulse-_

  
  


_“Whoa-!”_

The cobbler grabbed their arm and pulled them along towards the store.

“Come on! Let's go look at them!” she cried, her excitement plain as day. “I know you like them, and maybe they have some new ones in here!”

  
  


They were _struggling_ to keep their anger down.

  
  


“Anne, wait-”

“Maybe we can try some caramel apples, too!”

Joseph frowned slightly, noticing the miller's rather anxious state. “Anne-”

“Or maybe we can get some regular apples!” Anne exclaimed, cutting the clockmaker off.

A frown formed on Zacharias' face, though they tried their hardest to stop it.

“Anne, I don't-”

“OR MAYBE WE CAN GET _BOTH!”_

  
  


_Their head was_ **throbbing.**

  
  


“Anne, _please-”_

“Wait wait wait, we can do _ALL OF THESE THINGS!”_

  
  


The miller _clenched their teeth._

  
  


_Frustration was_ **building up inside of them.**

  
  


Gwendolyn turned around to speak up. “Anne, stop for-”

“We can go see that weird thing the owls are working on, too!”

  
  


_**They couldn't hold it any longer.** _

  
  


The shoemaker began bouncing as she rattled off the various activities that she could do with Zacharias. “Then we can go to the gardens, and then the-”

_“Anne, would you stop your irritating blabbering and just SHUT UP!?”_

  
  


Everyone on the street _stopped in their tracks_ as Zacharias lost their temper and **exploded on the spot.** The other adults of Subcon Village stared with wide eyes and open-mouthed horror, some holding a hand over their mouths while others clutched at their chests.

For a brief moment, Zacharias _didn't care._ They balled up their hands and closed their eyes, their face screwing up in exasperation.

“Seriously, can't you stop babbling about anything for more than _five seconds!?”_ they fumed, all of their frustration erupting like a volcano. “All you do is talk, and talk, and _talk_ without stopping! How have you dealt with being you for your ENTIRE LIFE when you're so _ANNOYING!?”_

_“ZACHARIAS!”_

_“WHAT!?”_

Zacharias' eyes snapped _wide open_ as they turned to Diana, eyebrows furrowed and lowered and an infuriated scowl on their face, ready to yell at the blacksmith, as well.

Diana stared, their face hardened into a stern frown, yet their eyes unmistakably filled with _shock_ at the miller's outburst.

  
  


_Everyone_ was staring at Zacharias.

  
  


_They could feel the scared eyes of the masked children upon them, the startled stares of the other villagers, the surprised looked from people on the street..._

**All judging the miller. _All of them upset._**

  
  


Zacharias' anger subsided slightly as they turned their head towards Anne.

The cobbler's lower lip quivered as she stared at them, her hurt written across her face. Tears pooled in her eyes as her shoulders shook.

“Sorry...” the cobbler choked out, hugging herself as she backed away slightly.

Guilt knotted the miller's stomach as the anger on their face was gradually replaced with _horror._

  
  


_What had they done?_

  
  


Before they could so much as reach out to the shoemaker, she quickly backed away and ran over to the other villagers. Gwendolyn quickly caught her and hugged her close- much befitting the mason's status as an older sister to the younger adults- and turned her stony, serious gaze upon Zacharias.

Diana kept staring at Zacharias, the smithy's gaze scrutinizing. William balanced sternly glaring at the miller and patting poor Anne's head.

Joseph sported a much more concerned expression, the inner corners of his eyebrows turned up as he quietly reached over to pat Anne's shoulder.

But soon enough, he, too, turned his gaze upon the miller.

“Zacharias, what is going on with you?” the clockmaker worriedly asked.

  
  


…

_They didn't know how to answer that question._

  
  


With what felt like the eyes of the world upon them, the miller glanced around at Subcon's inhabitants, feeling a lump in their throat that they had difficulty swallowing down.

  
  


Zacharias _knew_ they needed to get away _as soon as possible._

  
  


“I'm going back to the inn,” they muttered, turning on their heel and storming off before anyone could stop them.

“Zacharias, you come back here _this instant!”_ William yelled, his voice traveling far down the street.

The miller paid no heed as they turned a corner and kept walking. A few seconds later, the buildings nearby hid them from the villagers' sights.

“Zacharias!” Joseph yelled, running quickly after the miller.

They paid no heed, storming down towards the nearby inn.

“Zacharias, _wait!”_ the clockmaker yelled again, quickly catching up to the miller in just a few seconds. He panted slightly as he ran, but soon slowed into a brisk stride next to the angry human ghost. “What was that all about?” he quickly asked. “You just went off on Anne for _no reason!”_

Zacharias kept their gaze on the ground below, their expression darkening _considerably._

Joseph frowned more, worry knitted on his brow as he gently reached out to grab Zacharias' shoulder. “Come on, you can talk to me,” he coaxed, “we're like _siblings!_ You can tell me any-”

_“LEAVE ME ALONE, JOSEPH!”_ Zacharias roared, turning their head to glare **furiously** at the clockmaker.

Joseph's eyes grew _huge._ He let go of the miller's shoulder _almost immediately_ and took a few steps back.

  
  


Guilt knotted itself again in Zacharias' stomach, but the anger that _consumed_ them **overpowered any desire to apologize.**

  
  


Not more than a second later, the miller stomped their way to the nearby inn and went inside. The brief sound of a door slamming shut was faintly heard on the streets, before the regular hubbub of activity took over.

Joseph could only stare at the inn in utter shock and confusion as he let his arm fall to his side.

* * *

Zacharias knew better than to try and go to the lab, once they made it back to Subcon Forest.

  
  


They knew the moment the other villagers found the note on the miller's room door at the inn, they would _all_ want to head back after them. More importantly, the village's “wizard” knew that they would tell the Snatcher first, and _he_ would take everyone back to the forest in the blink of an eye!

  
  


_Not enough time to get to the lab, and do what needed to be done._

  
  


Holding their head, the now-ghostly miller slumped in their chair in front of their desk.

  
  


This was all _messed up;_ the books didn't say _anything_ about their behavior changing from-

  
  


A knock at the door jolted Zacharias from their thoughts. They glanced at the door, frowning deeply as they calmly gathered up the papers on their desk.

  
  


_They already figured out who was outside._

  
  


“Go away, Snatcher,” they bitterly grumbled, stowing the papers away in the nightstand drawer.

  
  


They didn't know why they bothered with hiding everything; the inky ghost would _never_ enter someone's home without their permission. He was just _too polite_ to do so!

_Why were they so paranoid? They didn't know, and that only added to their frustration._

  
  


**“Zacharias, are you feeling all right?”** came the Snatcher's voice from behind the locked door.

_“I'm fine,”_ the red ghost snapped, “just leave me _alone,_ already!”

  
  


Silence briefly fell.

  
  


The miller's annoyed expression fell into somberness as they sat back down at their desk, and held their face in their hands.

**“Zacharias...”**

Zacharias didn't respond, this time, remaining hunched over their desk.

The Snatcher spoke again, his distorted voice unusually soft. **“I don't know what is going on with you, recently, but I want to help you.”**

_“I just want to be alone, right now,”_ the miller mumbled, their words muffled by their hands.

**“What was that?”** the Snatcher asked, his own voice slightly muffled by the wooden door.

Sighing sullenly, the miller removed their hands from their face. _“I want to be alone, right now!”_ they repeated, this time a bit more loudly.

  
  


_They were **mad** and **exasperated** and **annoyed** and they just wanted **five seconds to themselves** to figure things out!_

  
  


The room grew silent, once more.

  
  


**“... All right, I'll leave you alone.”**

  
  


The miller held their face in their hands, again.

  
  


**“But I'm always around to talk, if you need to talk to someone, all right?”** the Snatcher said through the door. **“I will _always_ be here if you need me.”**

  
  


A long silence followed, and the miller knew that the Snatcher had left. Now alone, Zacharias resigned themselves to deep contemplation, the specter's words echoing through their mind.

* * *

He was getting _really_ worried about Zacharias.

  
  


Upon learning what had happened from the other villagers, the Snatcher wasted no time in going to the inn to talk to Zacharias. Unfortunately for him, the miller wasn't in their room, but a note on the bed revealed they had went back to Subcon Forest. Once all of the villagers and the human specter were safely away from any prying eyes, he teleported them all back to the forest and _immediately_ went to talk to the troubled miller.

It quickly became clear that Zacharias needed some time to themselves, given their response to his attempts to talk to them.

Now, a day after the trip to Clarence's country, the phantom of the forest was left trying to wrap his brain around _what_ possibly could have gotten into the miller.

Which wasn't going very well; the only thing that came to mind was the possibility that they were still searching for a way to permanently lock _Vanessa_ away-

  
  


_… Actually, that made sense, when he thought about it._

  
  


Though he was certain that _had_ to be what Zacharias was bothered about, they had locked themselves away in their tree-stump home- meaning he couldn't ask them if that was the case. This worried the phantom, of course, but he knew that when Zacharias was ready to talk, they would come to him.

  
  


That didn't make waiting any less _agonizing,_ however...

  
  


A small tug on his arm pulled the specter away from his worried thoughts.  
  
  


Denise was staring at him, their tail wrapped around his thin arm as they tugged on it.

**“What is it, Denise?”** the Snatcher inquired, a nonexistent brow raised as he held a finger out to the child.

The masked spirit quickly released his arm from their grip and wound their tail around his finger, instead. They gazed up at him expectingly, their emotions clearly felt and quickly deciphered.

  
  


_You never finished the story._

  
  


**“The story...?”** he murmured, holding his free hand up to his figurative chin.

  
  


_The one about the castle._

  
  


His mind suddenly pulled the memory of the story from deep within. Realization dawned upon his face as his glowing eyes widened.

 **“That's right... we never did finish that tale, did we?”** mused the maned ghost.

  
  


_Will you tell us the rest?_

  
  


The specter glanced off towards Zacharias' home, for a brief second, before he turned back to the masked spirit.

**“Of course,”** he replied with a nod, **“but we may have to do it without Zacharias. They are... _rather busy,_ at the moment. Can you gather the other children around the skull?”**

The phantom smiled as Denise quickly untangled themselves from the specter's finger, and darted off to find the other children.

  
  


After a few minutes, all of Subcon's children were gathered up in front of the massive skull, once more. Each child was filled to the brim with excitement to finally hear the rest of the story, and all of them eagerly stared up at the inky ghost, waiting for him to resume the tale.

**“Where were we...?”** the Snatcher wondered, stroking his mane with a hand as he racked his mind. **“Ah, yes, that's right. So, Zacharias had finished eavesdropping on my parents...”**

* * *

Zacharias' wisteria eyes lit up with glee upon hearing what the king and queen said. They fist-pumped the air, quietly celebrating with a whispered “YES!” as they moved away from the door, quickly heading for their seat-

Just then, the doors opened as the king and queen re-entered the great hall, and quickly spotted Zacharias trying to sneak away! Both of the monarchs raised an eyebrow as the child sheepishly turned around and scratched the back of their head.

“Uh-” Zacharias quickly blurted out, realizing they were _completely busted._

The two adults sent each other an amused glance as they both smiled. The king quickly knelt down and mussed up Zacharias' hair.

“Well, I guess there's no point in trying to keep it a secret, any longer,” the king laughed, before standing up straight to address all of the other children. “Well, everyone, the blizzard's still going,” he announced, barely able to hide the amused smile on his face. “So, it looks like all of you children will have to sleep here, in the keep!”

  
  


Exhaustion was briefly forgotten. All of the children's eyes snapped _wide open_ as they stared at the king and queen. Jaws dropped, delighted gasps were emitted, and eyes _sparkled_ with _pure joy_ as the children all yelled and cheered.

“We get to sleep in the castle!”

“Really? We get to sleep here?”

“I can't wait to tell Mom and Dad!”

“I CALL THE BIGGEST ROOM!”

  
  


No one was able to react quickly enough to stop Anne from leaping right off of her chair and darting off through the doors on the side of the great hall.

  
  


The king chuckled as he calmly walked to the doors. “I'll make sure she doesn't get lost,” he laughed, quickly vanishing behind the wooden doors.

“Well, children,” the prince's mother began to say, “let me show you to your rooms. You can all pick out one that you like!”

Almost immediately, the children still gathered around the table quickly hopped out of their seats and hurried to congregate around the monarch. The prince and Aizat both climbed out of their chairs and pushed them back in. Aizat carefully pulled out Aureola's chair, while the prince helped the younger child climb down from it.

The queen of Subcon shepherded the other children over to the doors on the side wall. The young prince, Aizat, and Aureola quickly followed behind, and with all of the children- aside from Anne- all together, the prince's mother led the children through the door and up to the tower.

Inside of one of the guests rooms, Aizat and the young prince stood by the side of a bed, smiling gently as Aureola nestled down underneath the thick covers. The younger child let out a tired sigh, laying their head back on a pillow as they gazed at the room.

“Aizat will be next door, if you need anything,” the young noble reassured them, reaching over to ruffle Aureola's hair, “and I'll be just upstairs!”

“If you get too scared to move, just shout!” Aizat added, joining in on the hair-ruffling. “I'll be right over in a second!”

A slow nod assured both of the boys that Aureola understood. The two headed for the door, waving back at their friend.

“Good Night, Aureola,” they both said in unison.

A soft “Good Night...” was just _barely_ heard by the two children as they left the room and closed the door.

“Well, I guess we should get to bed, too!” Aizat remarked, stretching his arms over his head. “I'm exhausted!”

“I can't wait to get some sleep...” the prince sighed, turning to head for the staircase. He glanced over his shoulder and waved at his friend. “Good Night, Aizat!”

Aizat returned the wave with a large grin, heading for the room next to Aureola's. “Good Night, Prince-”

A loud yawn kept the boy from finishing what he was saying, and by the time he got around to it, the prince was already so far up the staircase, he only heard a faint mumble of his name coming from the other boy. With heavy steps, the prince reached the top of the staircase and sluggishly walked over to and into his room. His eyelids felt heavy, and the sounds of fire crackling in the nearby fireplace brought with it a warmth that only made them heavier. Barely giving anything inside a glance, he climbed up onto his bed, crawled under the covers, and quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_So that's the end of the story, then?_

  
  


Pure disappointment emanated from Julia as the yellow-colored ghost gazed up at the Snatcher through the eyes of her bull mask.

  
  


He _almost_ said yes- what happened next had been so **_terrifying,_** back when he was younger...

  
  


But he shook his head instead, smiling at the young child. **"Far from it, actually,"** he hesitantly admitted. **"What happened the next day was... _nerve-racking,_ to say the least."**

  
  


_What happened?_

_Tell us! Please?_

All of the small voices chiming in forced him to push his hesitance away. With a small sigh and a solemn nod, the ghostly noble conceded.

**"All right, settle down, please!"** he kindly requested.

Obeying him instantly, the children all huddled together and quieted down.

A clawed hand moved up to stroke his mane. The Snatcher hummed deeply, contemplating how to continue.

  
  


**"Now, where should I begin...?"**


	34. The Tale of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all is as well as it seems.

_When he opened his eyes, the room was still somewhat dark._

  
  


The young prince rubbed at his eyes and yawned, somehow feeling wide awake. He furrowed his brow as he climbed out of bed, perplexed by _why_ he woke up.

It wasn't morning yet, was it? And yet, here he was!

With another loud yawn, the prince trudged over to a nearby clock and checked the time.

  
  


_Nine o' clock._

  
  


… Wait, _what!?_

  
  


Rushing over to a nearby window, the young prince threw the curtains open, only to be greeted by the sight of a wall of white. The wind outside _whistled_ as snowflakes fluttered through the air rapidly, dulling the sun's rays and making the light seem dimmer than normal.

All he could do was gawk at the sight, stunned into _absolute silence_ as the blizzard from the night before continued raging onward.

_“Heavens!”_ the young prince quietly cried, “I can't even see any of the towers...!”

Closing the curtains, once more, the young prince shivered from the cold that now hung about his room. One glance at his fireplace brought only disappointment, as the fire inside had long been snuffed out.

He sighed. “Well, no reason to go back to bed,” he murmured, “it's already time for breakfast...”

With that thought in mind, the young noble quickly rushed off to shower and ready himself for the day.

The young prince quickly rushed downstairs, dressed in fresh clothes and his hair mostly dry and brushed as he ran straight to Aizat's room-

He skidded to a stop just as the door opened, flailing his arms slightly as he regained his balance.

Aizat stepped out, fully-dressed and his own hair still damp from the shower he got. Nonetheless, the boy grinned widely as he brushed out his blond locks.

“Good Morning, Your Highness!” he greeted, grunting as he pulled a knot free from his blond locks.

“Good Morning, Aizat,” the prince chuckled, smiling cheerfully at the boy. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a _log!”_ Aizat replied, taming the rest of his hair with relative ease. He rushed back inside to put the brush down on the vanity, before darting back to the door. “Did you look outside?” he anxiously asked.

The noble nodded, frowning slightly as he shuddered from the slight chill in the hall. “I thought it was _much_ earlier than it actually _was,_ it was so dark!” exclaimed the prince. “Goodness, I don't think _anyone_ will be able to get home, if this storm keeps up!”

“Yeah...”

  
  


The chiming of a clock interrupted the two boys' conversation, announcing the time as forty-five minutes past the hour.

  
  


Their eyes grew _massive._

  
  


_“Nine forty-five!?”_ the prince cried in alarm, “I didn't realize how long I took to get ready!”

“Neither did I!” the other boy held his head with a hand, startled at how they had both lost track of time. “We're _really_ late for breakfast! Come on, let's go!”

  
  


The two boys bolted down the hall, eager to snag something for breakfast before everything was gone. As they passed by the door to Aureola's room, the two slowed to a halt.

  
  


“Do you think Aureola's up?” Aizat wondered.

Humming in thought, the young prince turned to the closed door. “I don't know...” he mused, before perking up. “We should check. I'm sure they wouldn't want to miss breakfast!”

The two shared a nod of agreement as they hurried over to the door, stopping just inches away. The young prince raised a hand and gently rapped on the solid wood.

“Aureola, are you awake?” he asked.

  
  


… There was no answer from inside.

  
  


Aizat stepped forward and knocked on the door, this time. “Aureola, it's almost ten!” he called inside. “Breakfast is almost over!”

  
  


… Still no response.

  
  


Both of the boys wore frowns and furrowed brows as they glanced at one another.

“Maybe they already went downstairs?” Aizat guessed.

“Maybe... Let's try one more time.”

Simultaneously, the two knocked on the door. _“Aureola?”_ they both called.

  
  


… The prince heard something from behind the door. Judging by the look on Aizat's face, he heard it, too.

Holding an ear up to the door, the noble focused on trying to determine what the sound was.

  
  


… He _swore_ that he heard something like a _groan._

  
  


Confusion plain on his face, the noble turned his head towards Aizat, before focusing on the door.

“Aureola, we're coming inside,” he announced, before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open.

  
  


The room was dark- no thanks to the fireplace that had gone out, and the faint light from the rattling window behind the curtains only produced faint silhouettes of the bed that stood nearby. The two boys approached the bed, Aizat on the left, and the prince on the right. Slowly but surely, their eyes adjusted to the scant light, allowing them to glimpse Aureola, still underneath the covers.

The prince gently placed a hand on the younger child's shoulder.

“Aureola,” he quietly spoke, carefully shaking the sleeping child, “it's time to get up.”

Through the darkness, he could see Aureola's brow furrowing and their face scrunching up as they turned away.

Aizat giggled a bit, before mussing up Aureola's hair. “Come on, Aureola!” he quietly exclaimed. “Breakfast is almost over!”

A sudden, quiet whine startled the boys as the younger child pulled away from Aizat's hand and pulled the covers up close to their face.

  
  


Both of the older children frowned at this, worry gradually making its way onto their features as they watched the young child shiver.

  
  


“Aureola,” the prince murmured, “what's-”

  
  


The windows burst open, startling everyone as _frigid gales_ blew into the room.

Aureola's eyes snapped open as they turned to look, shuddering violently as they took shelter underneath the covers. Aizat and the prince held their arms in front of their faces, screwing their eyes shut as they both battled against the raging blizzard that was quickly spilling into the room.

The curtains flapped wildly about, the snow rushing inside and gathering upon the cold floor below, and crunching underneath the boys' boots as they fought with all of their strength against the storm. The young prince reached out with his other arm, desperately searching for the window pane that had flown open. The wind _whistled_ in his ears as the biting cold and large snowflakes **dug** into his skin, the cold threatening to consume him _**completely.**_

An _eternity_ felt like it had gone by when his fingers grazed the metal edge of the pane. Grasping the edge tightly, the young noble quickly moved his other hand against the glass.

“I'VE GOT IT!” he yelled to Aizat, trying his best to be heard over the roaring wind. “HELP ME!”

He must have been heard, as he soon saw Aizat on his left, aiding him in pressing against the glass. The two boys grunted as they pushed as hard as they could.

It was a _battle,_ trying to close the window. Nature versus two young boys; the _frigid cold_ versus the endurance of two ten-year-olds. Raging winds nearly **barreled them over** as they gradually forced the glass pane closer and closer in front of the open window, each of their steps slow as the blizzard threw _**everything it had at them.**_

Finally, after an _arduous_ fight against the storm, the boys felt the window stop in place as the chilling winds ceased. The prince quickly reached up and latched the pane shut, before both of the boys slid down against the wall and onto the floor, gasping for air as they briefly trembled from the cold they had been exposed to.

The curtains fell down upon them, gently billowing over their heads as the heavy cloth settled back over the window.

Slowly, Aizat and the prince pushed the curtains aside as they got up, breathing deeply as they brushed wayward snow off of their clothes.

“I... do _not_ want to see another blizzard for the rest of my life,” gasped Aizat, shaking his head slightly to rid it of some flakes.

“A-Agreed,” said the prince, sighing as he gently brushed his hair free of the frozen crystals.

Once they were relatively snow-free, both of the boys hurried back over to the bed.

“Aureola? Are you all right?” the prince inquired, the inner corners of his eyebrows raised as he gently pulled the covers back.

Red hair soon appeared from underneath the thick fabric, followed by a frowning, scrunched-up face. Aureola groaned again, trying to burrow themselves back underneath the warm covers.

“W-Wait, Aureola-” Aizat reached over, trying to pull the covers back further. “- stop! What's the matter!?”

After struggling to hide themselves underneath the blanket, Aureola finally gave up, their face contorting as they softly began crying.

Aizat froze, releasing the covers, while the prince's eyes widened.

“O-Oh, no, I'm sorry!” Aizat quietly apologized, frowning deeply as his eyes filled with tears. “I just-”

He struggled to find his words as pained sobs escaped Aureola, her tiny form quivering frightfully underneath the bedspread.

Slowly, the noble held his forehead.

  
  


This whole situation _perplexed_ the young prince; what could be wrong with Aureola? _Why were they crying?_

  
  


“Aureola...” the prince murmured, removing his hand from his head to brush some of younger child's hair out of their eyes. “I'm sorry if we upse-”

Suddenly, he stopped talking as his fingertips brushed against their forehead. Blinking a few times, he pressed the palm of his hand against Aureola's trembling forehead.

“...”

Aizat wiped his eyes and turned his attention to the prince, blinking rapidly as he stared at the noble blankly.

The royal's pupils shrank as he turned to look at his friend.

“Aizat,” the prince began, his voice growing low and frightened in tone, “their forehead's _warmer than mine.”_

  
  


The door was flung open. Both of the boys jolted, whipping their heads up as their gazes rose to the open door.

  
  


In the entrance stood the prince's parents, his father holding the doorknob while his mother held a lit candle. Both of the royals glanced from the children, to the now-wet floor in front of the window, then back to the children.

The prince realized something, in that moment.

_If Aureola was sick, and he and Aizat were in here, this whole time..._

  
  


Well, he may be _ten,_ but he learned enough from the village's doctor to know how illnesses worked!

  
  


“Aureola has a fever,” the young prince quickly told them.

The moment those words were spoken, the king quickly turned to his wife.

“Can you taken care of the other children?” he quickly asked.

“Of course,” the queen replied, quickly handing him the candle. She gave him a quick peck on the lips, and then she was hurrying off downstairs.

The king quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Immediately, the prince removed his hand from Aureola's head and stepped aside as his father walked over. Setting the candle down on the nearby nightstand, the ruler knelt down to feel the child's forehead.

The candle's dim flame brought enough light to illuminate Aureola's pallid face, which somehow was even _paler_ than it normally was. The child's nose ran, and their eyes were growing increasingly red and puffy from their tearful bawls.

The two boys were _horrified._ Seeing their friend like this... well, it certainly wasn't _pleasant,_ to say the least.

Nonetheless, they stayed by their friend's side as the monarch gently checked the child's pulse.

“How are you feeling, little one?” the king asked the sickly child.

Aureola's nose twitched, before they sneezed.

“Ah...” Nodding solemnly, the king directed his attention to the two boys standing by the other side of the bed. “How long were you two in here?” the king asked, his forehead creasing as his tone grew concerned.

The young prince tightly clasped his hands together as he looked his father in the eye. His expression straight and firm, the young boy answered with a decisive statement.

“Long enough that we could _potentially_ be infected.”

“So making us leave would be a _bad_ idea,” Aizat chimed in.

The boys' response made the king laugh- quietly, though, for Aureola's sake- as his worried eyes twinkled slightly.

“All right, you can stay,” said the man, “but make sure to wash your hands in the bathroom, over there.”

Not wasting a single second, the prince and Aizat quickly rushed to another door on the wall to the right, and after prying it open, ran to the nearby sink to properly wash their hands.

* * *

_That sounds like it was scary..._

  
  


The Snatcher nodded, his attention focusing on the child who had spoken up; Julia. **“It was,”** he admitted, his fanged mouth thinning at the memory, **“especially for Aureola. They were only six at the time, and when you're younger, illnesses hit you a _lot_ harder.”**

The children all looked at one another, the faint memory of times when they were sick having been brought back to their awareness.

**“Little did we know,”** the Snatcher quickly said, internally relieved as the children were drawn away from the memories of their former lives, **“the blizzard had no intention of letting up, anytime soon.”**

* * *

Two days of _howling_ winds and _whistling_ ice, **relentlessly** rattling windows and shutters alike.

  
  


In all honesty, the prince couldn't help but feel a bit restless.

  
  


Having spent the past few days inside of the guest room, there wasn't much left to do, when he wasn't helping take care of Aureola. No one that went into the room would be able to leave- until all of the other children were able to go home, at least. _No one_ wanted to risk spreading Aureola's illness to the rest of the children.

The king and the two boys had to place used towels and clothes by the door, so that the servants could take them away to be cleaned and bring fresh, clean clothes and towels for them all. Meals had to be left at the door for those inside to bring into the room, and the prince's mother would check up on them- from _outside_ of the room, of course!- whenever she wasn't busy occupying the other children.

Naturally, the queen and king would chat- the latter apologizing for not being able to help take care of the children, and the former shushing him from outside of the closed door and telling him that she understood _completely._ The talks generally consisted of what she had done with the other children, that day, how Aureola was doing, checking up on the king and the two boys, and asking them if they needed anything- the young noble had requested if she could fetch his presents from his room and give them to the other children, when she had first asked.

Despite the conversations between the queen and the quarantined children and king, their only other sources of human interaction were the cooks and the servants.

The king had asked through the wooden door for someone to fetch one of the nurses, but to everyone's dismay, they quickly learned that the nurses had gone to the one of the exterior towers of the castle to tend to some of the knights.

_The snowstorm outside would make it impossible for the castle's medics to return to the keep!_

  
  


Which meant that the monarch, Aizat, and the prince were the only people that could take care of Aureola. Not only that, but without the medical garb that the nurses would sometimes wear, _no one else_ would be able to _safely_ enter or leave the room without getting infected, or infecting _someone else._

  
  


To tell the truth, none of them knew if what Aureola had was _contagious,_ but they all knew it was better to be safe than sorry. Which meant _all of them would have to stay in the guest room,_ for the foreseeable future.

Naturally, the prince was rather fidgety from being cooped up in one room for _days._ He wanted nothing more than to stretch, take a walk, or grab a book from his room to read; he just wanted to do _something,_ because he was feeling _really anxious!_

But most of all, he was worried about Aureola. They were getting _worse;_ coughing and sneezing, their nose red, and the poor child would moan and groan whenever they had to move around, even to eat! Not only that, but their fever was still there-

“It is only a low one, fortunately,” the king had told the boys.

\- and from what few words the sickly child had said, their head was hurting quite a bit!

  
  


Aizat, the king, and the prince all tried to keep the sick child's spirits up. They entertained Aureola with tales about things that the three of them had done, back when they were younger, and about tales that they had heard about antics that others had gotten up to- and all three of the children were shocked to learn that the prince's father was quite the mischief-maker, back when he was the prince's age!

The tales were enough to distract Aureola from their miserable state, their attention held away from the many symptoms of their illness and focused on the elaborate stories.

At some point, however, the boys and the king ran out of stories to tell. The three of them couldn't even think of a single fairy tale they heard as a child that they hadn't _already_ recited to the ailing child!

  
  


Just as Aizat and the prince were pondering on what to do, they heard Silvia's voice from the other side of the door.

  
  


“Your Majesty, one of the nurses made it through the blizzard!” she quickly announced. “He will be here in but a moment!”

Stress melted away as the king's face relaxed, and he let out a relived laugh. “Thank you, Sylvia!” he called back, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

The faint echo of footsteps moving away from the door was all the boys heard, before they both collapsed against a wall and sighed.

_“Thank heavens!”_ Aizat cried, resting the back of his head against the wall.

“It's a _miracle!”_ the prince sighed.

The king's smile stretched clear across his face as he gazed down at little Aureola.

“Did you hear that, little fawn?” he softly asked them, gently petting the child's head. “The nurse will be here, soon.”

Aureola tiredly gazed up at the king through barely-open, red, watery eyes. The poor child let out a small, weak whine, before they went into another coughing fit.

“I know, little one,” he gently soothed, “this illness has been hard on you.”

The prince and Aizat picked themselves up and went over to help comfort Aureola. After a few minutes, the young noble was aware of the faint echo of heavy boots and softer footsteps hitting the ground.

They grew closer, before the sounds stopped outside of the room.

  
  


There was a knock on the door.

  
  


“Who is it?” the king inquired.

“The nurse, Your Majesty!” Silvia called back.

The king let out a relieved laugh. “Let him in!”

  
  


The door opened, and in stepped the nurse, in full protective garb. A long robe draped down to his ankles, thick gloves stretched far up into his sleeves, a tight hood was wrapped about his head, and an unusual, oddly-shaped mask was covering his face.

“Your Majesty,” the mask-wearing nurse addressed the king with a nod. He turned to the prince, next. “Your Highness.” He nodded at the young royal, then turned to Aizat. “Young one.”

Aizat's jaw _dropped_ at the sight of the nurse.

The prince stood up straight, his lips thin as his brow was knit with worry.

  
  


He _rarely_ ever saw any of the nurses pull out their protective garb for _anything,_ but when they did, they always looked terrifying; they looked like some kind of monster from one of the many stories he'd read!

He couldn't blame Aizat for being stunned. But the young noble knew _exactly_ what it meant when a nurse put on one of those outfits; _they were trying to prevent something from spreading around._

  
  


_Was Aureola really that sick, or was the nurse not sure what they were dealing with, yet?_

  
  


“Gerard, is that you?” The king's smile grew as he greeted the nurse, recognizing the muffled voice behind the mask.

Gerard nodded once more to the king. “We caught word of a child catching ill while we were trapped in the towers,“ he explained. “After waiting two days for this _blasted storm_ to blow over, I finally had enough of waiting and trekked out to the keep.”

The prince's father raised his brow as his eyes grew wide. _“Good heavens,_ Gerard, that was rather risky!” the monarch remarked.

“It was,” the nurse agreed, “but I _couldn't_ wait around, any longer. Not when there's a sick child.”

The king nearly pat the man's back, but immediately stopped himself, instead clasping his hands together. “Well, we're all happy you made it here,” he warmly said, before glancing down to Aureola. “Aureola, this is Nurse Gerard,” he told the sick child, kneeling down next to the bed. “He's going to take a look at you, so we can figure out how to help you feel better.”

The prince and Aizat both turned to look at Aureola, whose eyes were wide and pupils small as they stared on the nurse.

  
  


… Speaking of monsters, Aureola looked like they were _staring right at one!_

  
  


The moment Gerard moved over to the bedside, the sickly child immediately shied away, trying to run away from the nurse. Both the boys and the king let out startled yells as they all rushed to keep Aureola from falling out of bed, the two boys gently pushing Aureola back and the king gently grabbing the child's shoulder and pulling the away from the edge.

“It's okay, Aureola!” Aizat reassured them.

“Nurse Gerard is going to help you feel better,” the prince explained.

“Everything's all right, little one,” the prince's father quietly said.

Gerard slowly knelt down and reached out to Aureola to give them a check-up. The younger child started whining, their face scrunching up in a mixture of pain and fear as they reached out for the young boys. Aizat and the prince immediately took hold of the younger child's hand, the inner corners of the older children's brows furrowing up as they tried to put reassuring smiles on their faces.

“It's okay, it's just a quick check-up,” the prince told the frightened Aureola.

Nothing that he said would calm the child down. Aureola continued fighting to get away from the nurse, their soft whining growing louder.

“It's like when we go to the doctor, back in the village!” Aizat pointed out to the younger child.

“No!” the sick child quietly protested, tears leaking from their screwed-shut eyelids.

The corners of the king's mouth turned down as his forehead creased. Slowly, he rubbed the child's back in an attempt to calm them.

“Aureola, it is all right,” soothed the worried monarch, “I know he looks scary, but Gerard is only here to help you feel better.”

_“No...!”_

Nothing anyone said could stop the child's struggling. The king's golden eyes filled with woe as he did his best to ease the child into a sense of security, but no amount of gentle words would allay the sickly child's fears.

All the while, the prince and Aizat both held Aureola's hand as Gerard did his best to examine the child, both of the young boys _fraught_ with concern for their friend.

  
  


How could the young noble help make this less scary for Aureola? There were no more stories he could tell them to distract them! If only he could have given them the gift he made for them; it might have helped make the ill child feel a _little_ safer-

  
  


All of a sudden, an idea popped into the boy's head.

  
  


If he had run out of stories to tell, he could just _make one up!_

  
  


“Hey, Aureola,” the prince suddenly spoke up, “have you heard 'The Tale of the Moon'?”

Much to the prince's relief, Aureola whining died down as they looked at him, their face still somewhat scrunched-up in pain and fear.

Aizat turned and gave the prince a perplexed stare, but the prince was more focused on trying to take Aureola's mind of off the scary-looking nurse to notice the other boy's confusion.

“It's a story that _no one else_ knows!” the noble revealed to them, putting a smile back on his face. “Would you like to hear it?”

Gradually, the still-upset child nodded.

His smile now growing a bit more genuine, the young royal glanced off to the right as images of the moon and the little gift he made for the sick child filled his mind.

“A long time ago, the moon hung in the sky and watched the planet below _all of the time,”_ began the prince. “They watched the people below enjoy their lives, and always shined at night!”

Aureola watched the prince as he eagerly began weaving an elaborate tail. The boy's father and Gerard glanced at each other, both of them realizing what the prince was doing. The king's eyes twinkled as he gently helped Aureola lay back down, and Gerard moved over to examine the child.

For a brief moment, the sick child began whining again.

The prince's smile faded slightly, and he worried that he might not be able to keep Aureola's attention away from Gerard.

“But one day, the moon grew sad!” Aizat suddenly blurted out.

The prince glanced at his friend in surprise.

Aizat gave the noble a proud smile, showing that the blond-haired boy understood what the prince was doing.

Aureola's whining stop. The noble turned back to the pale child to see their attention now on Aizat.

“There were a lot of people down on the planet, but the moon was all alone up in the sky,” Aizat continued, “they couldn't go down to the planet, either, because they were _too big!”_

Distracted by the story, Aureola laid still as the the nurse checked them over.

The prince smiled at Aizat, and the two boys nodded to each other in full understanding. They quickly took turns as the narrator, entertaining the younger child with a delightful, enchanting tale.

“Seeing that the moon was sad, one of the children on the planet decided they were going to go see what was bothering the moon,” said the prince, holding Aureola's hand securely in his own. “They got some string and lassoed a cloud, and climbed up into the sky! Finally, they poked their head out of the clouds and saw the moon's face!”

“The moon was surprised to see a person from the planet climb so high up,” Aizat told the sick child, “so they asked the child why they had come all the way up into space.”

“'To see you,' said the child. 'I wanted to see why you were sad.'”

“The moon looked at the child and told them that they were lonely. They had no one to talk to, up in the sky.”

“So the child said, 'You can talk to me!'”

“The two of them talked about many things, like the planet below, the forests, and the oceans, until the child realized how late it was. So they said good-bye to the moon and climbed down the string, promising to come back to visit!”

“The next night, they climbed back up through the clouds and sat on a cloud, and greeted the moon with a smile, and the moon and the child talked and laughed about many things. And every night after, the child climbed up through the clouds when they were there, and spend time with the moon. The two would play games and sing songs, and even make some songs up on the spot!”

“But the moon was sad, still. When the child asked them why, they said that they felt lonely, since they were the only one floating in the sky. Everyone on the planet had someone nearby to talk with, but the moon had no one else in the sky to talk to, when the child wasn't around.”

  
  


Gerard soon finished examining Aureola, but none of the children noticed. Nor did they notice the king and the nurse step away to chat as the boys continued regaling their friend with the made-up story.

  
  


“The child suddenly realized the moon had never turned around, so they never saw what was behind them!” the prince said, motioning with his hands as he told the story. “So the child quickly stood up and said, 'I have something to show you! Follow me!' and ran across the clouds around the moon.”

“The moon spun around to see where the child had gone, and they found the child on another cloud nearby,” continued Aizat.

“'Look over here!' the child cried. Sweeping their arm, they motioned to a sea of stars that twinkled like diamonds.”

“The moon stared at the sea of stars, _amazed_ by the sight. They had thought they were the only thing floating in the sky, but now, they realized they weren't! The moon was _overjoyed_ , watching the stars shine with the child.”

“'Now, even when I have to go back home, you won't be lonely!' the child told the moon.”

“With so many new friends in space, the moon spent their time talking to the stars above, no longer alone in the sky.”

“But with the moon no longer facing the planet, the nights became dark and lonely. The people cried, missing the bright moon.”

“So the child grabbed their string and went to climb up a cloud, only to find there were no clouds in the sky!”

“With no clouds in the sky, the child couldn't reach the moon!”

  
  


Aureola went wide-eyed, worry crossing their face.

  
  


The prince smiled a toothy smile once his turn came to speak. “So the child climbed to the highest point in all of the land: the Horizon. They backed up as far as they could, then ran all the way to the other side of the cliffs, and with all of their might, _they jumped up into the sky and over the moon!”_

Aureola's eyes grew even _greater,_ before they coughed a few times. “A moon jumper,” they hoarsely whispered.

“That's right!” Aizat cried, his grin already clear across his face. “The moon was surprised to see their friend flying through the air, and asked them what they were doing.”

Then it was the noble's turn to continue the tale. “'The entire planet misses you!' the child explained, using their strings to float in the air in front of the moon. 'Won't you please turn back around so they can see you?'”

“The moon looked to their friend, then to the stars behind the child. 'But what if I can never find the stars again, if I turn around?' the moon asked.”

“'Then I'll jump over you and let a long string trail behind me, so that way you can find the stars again!'”

“So the moon said good-bye to the stars and turned around to face the planet. The people below were so happy to see the moon again, and the moon realized they missed seeing the people below. Everyone celebrated the return of the shining moon, and the planet was filled with joy and music!”

"The child smiled at the moon, happy to see them so cheerful!"

"Eventually, however, the moon began missing the stars, and they wanted nothing more than to turn around to see them! But they also didn't want the people on the planet below to miss them, either!"

“So, the people of the planet, the moon, and the stars figured out a solution! Every month, the child would jump over the moon to help them find the stars, then jump back over them to lead them back to the planet, letting the long string help guide them. The moon would spin around to follow the string, and find the planet and stars every time.”

“And to this day, you can see the moon spin around every month, slowly but surely, as they greet the planet during their full moon phase, and greet the stars during their new moon phase.”

“The End,” both of the boys said in unison.

When they looked at Aureola, they saw a small smile on the child's pale face.

“Did you like the story?” the prince asked them.

Aureola nodded slightly. They seemed a little less miserable than they were, before.

Aizat and the noble both glanced at each other, sharing proud, relieved smiles.

  
They had done it! They helped Aureola feel less scared!-

  
  


The two boys suddenly yelped as they felt a pair of hands muss up their hair.

“That was a wonderful story, boys!” praised the king, his golden eyes gleaming with pride and joy as he rustled their hair.

  
  


It was then that the children realized that Nurse Gerard had left _ages_ ago.

  
  


Immediately, the two older children pushed the man's hands off of their heads and whirled around to look up at the monarch.

“What did the nurse say?” Aizat quickly asked.

“Will Aureola be all right?” inquire the now-worried prince.

“Well,” the king began to say, kneeling down to the children's level, “Gerard said he would prepare some medicine to help with the pain they're having-”

The prince's heart nearly stopped, fear filling his entire body as countless thoughts bounced around in his mind.

  
What if Aureola was really, _really_ sick?

  
  


“- and that we should prepare some food to help them get over their cold,” the boy's father finished.

  
  


Fear was replaced with flooding relief almost instantly. He almost _collapsed_ right onto the floor!

  
  


“It's just a cold?” Aizat asked.

“That's right; just a cold,” the king assured them.

Aizat laughed and actually _fell onto the ground._ “Thank _heavens,_ just a cold!” he cried.

  
  


As the three of them all smiled at one another, the monarch and the prince suddenly froze as Aizat quietly sneezed.

  
  


“... Ah... I think I might have caught a cold, too...” the boy realized.

The prince giggled a bit. “After spending so long in here, I'm not- _'choo!”_

Both Aizat and the king glanced at the young noble as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his nose.

“I guess I must have caught it, too...” the young prince sheepishly chuckled. “It's a good thing we already had pillows and sheets sent up, the first night in.”

The king smiled and pat the boys' heads, once more. “I'm proud of you two for all of your help, the past couple of days,” he told them both. “For now, though, it's time for you boys to get some rest.”

With those words, the monarch went into the bathroom to wash his hands.

  
  


The two boys turned to Aureola, who looked rather sad, now.

  
  


_Aizat and the prince could already guess why._

  
  


“Hey, it's okay, Aureola,” the prince reassured the much-sicker child, “we probably _already_ had a cold, and just didn't show any symptoms until now!”

“Yeah!” Aizat replied with a sniffle. “Besides, we were bound to get sick, anyway-”

  
  


_“ACHOO!”_

  
  


All three of the children _jolted_ as a loud sneeze erupted from the bathroom. Turning their heads, they all saw the king emerge from the bathroom, blowing his nose with a handkerchief.

“Well, it seems we'll _all_ be stuck here, for a while,” he quietly laughed, slightly sheepish, yet remaining cheerful, nonetheless.

  
  


The prince glanced over at his friends, and all three of the children giggled.

* * *

_So that's where the story came from!_

  
  


Susan sat up straight, her realization of the tale's origins suddenly hitting her.

Laughing slightly, the Snatcher nodded at little Susan. **“I wrote it down, some years later, and Aizat and I had it published under the pen name: 'The Moon Jumpers'.”**

  
  


All of the children whispered to one another, their voices clear but mixing together in the Snatcher's senses.

Oh, how _excited_ the little ones were to learn that the authors of one of their _favorite_ tales were the ghostly prince and a member of the _other_ royal family's court!

  
  


_Zacharias was nearby._

  
  


Out of the corner of his eye, the specter spotted Zacharias sitting down by a tree, their back to the inky ghost.

His smile wavered for a second, and he was nearly ready to float up and go over to the miller, until Penelope spoke up.

  
  


_What happened after you got sick...?_

  
  


…

  
The Snatcher suddenly _got an idea._

  
  


His fanged mouth stretching into a grin, the specter crossed his arms as he looked down at the little ones.

**“All four of us ended up stuck in that room for _even longer_ than we had been, thanks to all of us catching colds!”** The inky ghost turned his gaze to Zacharias, whose back was still to the group. **“While we were all sick, though, Zacharias managed to round up Anne, Joseph, and Gwendolyn, and they all made a beeline to the kitchens to help the cooks make us food!”**

  
  


_They did?_

  
  


Chris tilted their head as they asked the question.

  
  


Hearing their name, Zacharias turned their head and looked over their shoulder at the Snatcher.

His yellow eyes softened slightly as his grin shifted into a cheerful smile.

 **“They did,”** he confirmed, **“and apparently, there was quite a _commotion_ while they were cooking!”**

The miller's sullen face slowly became less downcast as the children all spoke up at once.

  
  


**What happened?**

**Was there a big mess?**

**Was it like when I smashed all of the cherries, that one time!?**

  
  


A corner of the shadowy ghost's glowing mouth turned up a bit more, providing his face with a _slightly_ sly grin as he waved a hand towards Zacharias.

 **“Why don't you ask the mastermind behind the whole thing?”** suggested the Snatcher.

  
  


All of the children turned around, their masked eyes soon finding Zacharias in their sights.

  
  


For a brief moment, the miller was surprised, glancing between the children and the Snatcher with open-mouthed astonishment.

The specter raised a nonexistent eyebrow. **“I believe it was _your_ turn to be the storyteller, wasn't it?”** he pointed out.

Zacharias seemed to smile with both their eyes and mouth- a look that clearly expressed their gratitude towards the forest's ruler. It was quickly replaced with a proud grin as they turned around completely to face the children.

“It happened like this, kids,” the miller began, leaning back against the tree with mischievous pride. “I thought it'd be a good idea to help the cooks make some food for Snatcher, Aizat, Aureola, and the king, so we all crept into the kitchen once the queen's back was turned. The cooks even _agreed_ to let us help, would you believe that? Unfortunately, with Anne being her usual rowdy self, things got a _bit_ messy...”

  
  


As the children listened closely to the tale, the Snatcher's expression grew soft. He watched Zacharias gesture wildly as they energetically told the little ones about how Anne spilled some chicken soup onto the floor by mistake, which caused many of the cooks to slip and slide into tables and other people, and made the _entire_ kitchen a mess of food!

  
  


Everyone laughed at the tale, _especially_ the specter.

  
  


Once Zacharias had finished the tale with the heartwarming conclusion of the four children creating a new batch of chicken soup, the grandfather clock suddenly chimed in the distance.

  
  


_Eight o' clock._

  
  


Stretching slightly, Zacharias grinned at all of the children. “Perfect timing!” they exclaimed. “Right when I finished the story! All right, time for bed for the younger kids!”

A loud chorus of _“Awwwwww”s_ rang loud and clear in the Snatcher's senses.

**“You heard Zacharias,”** the Snatcher told the children, chuckling slightly at their reluctance to go to bed. **“It's bedtime. Head on home, kids.”**

Some of the children let out tired yawns as the group dispersed, the younger ones flying off to bed, while the older ones went off to play before their bedtime came in the next hour.

“Man, they _really_ enjoy hearing stories about when we were children, don't they?” Zacharias remarked, both their expression and tone lighter than it had been for a while.

**“They do, they do...”** the Snatcher agreed. He soon floated up, his attention now completely on the miller. **“You seem to be in lighter spirits!”**

“You've been hanging around Joseph too much, again, haven't you,” Zacharias remarked, amusement leaking into their voice.

_**“Perhaps,”**_ replied the taller ghost, mischievousness glinting in his glowing eyes.

His expression soon shifted to slightly nervous as his smile faltered. **“How are you doing, today?”** he asked, **“I know you weren't in the best of moods, yesterday...”**

All at once, the miller's confidence faded as they became more reflective. “I'm fine, now,” they told him. “Better, after telling the kids about Anne's little mishap.”

They smiled a bit more genuinely. “Thanks for that, boss,” they thanked him.

He pat the miller's shoulder. **“It wasn't a problem, at all,”** he told them. **“But I think we have quite a bit to talk about.”**

“I know,” Zacharias said, “I'm going to apologize to Anne and Joseph.”

**“That's not _all_ that I wanted to talk about.”**

He could see Zacharias' confusion etching itself onto the red ghost's face as they turned to look up at him.

**“Recently, you've been having a few... _rare_ moments of anger,”** the Snatcher mentioned, **“and I have been _struggling_ to figure out why, until recently.”**

  
  


For a second, he _swore_ he saw _fear_ in Zacharias' wisteria eyes.

  
  


**“Are you still looking for a way to permanently seal her away?”**

  
  


The fear in their eyes was quickly replaced with a guilty and- oddly enough- _relieved_ smile.

“That obvious, huh?” they murmured, glancing away from him.

The Snatcher sighed, before shaking his head. **“Zacharias, please look at me.”**

Reluctantly, the miller turned their head back, locking eyes with the maned ghost.

Gently, the specter held the miller's shoulders with both of his hands. His yellow eyes grew serious, yet kind.

**“I do not mind you searching for a more permanent means of sealing off the path,”** he told them, **“but _do not tire yourself out over it._ We have a _stronger barrier,_ now, thanks to you! It may not be _perfect,_ but it's good enough. Trying to find a way to make a perfect barrier is _not_ worth stressing yourself out, especially when you end up getting bitter and angry, like yesterday.”**

  
  


For a second, the miller glanced away and to the ground, a reflective look in their eyes as they frowned.

  
  


“... I think you're right,” they mumbled, “what I'm doing _isn't_ worth snapping at someone over something _small.”_

Gently smiling, he nodded firmly as he pat the miller's back.

Zacharias glanced up, their smile small, but clearly there. “Thanks, Snatcher,” they quietly said, “I _needed_ to hear that.”

**“Hey, I am _always_ happy to help a sibling out.”**

The miller nodded a few times, before they started floating away. “I'm going to apologize to Anne and Joseph, now,” they told him, waving a couple of times, “I'll see you later!”

His fanged smile once more gracing his face, the Snatcher returned the wave. Relief filled his body as he sighed, clasping his hands together.

  
  


Thank _heavens,_ Zacharias had come to their senses...

  
  


All of a sudden, he became aware of someone approaching-

  
  


_Fredrick was rushing towards him._

  
  


As the ghostly noble turned about, he spotted Frederick darting through the air towards the forest's ruler. The red-colored ghost quickly slowed down, his stone gray eyes flooded with concern and the corners of his mouth turned down as he wrung his hands.

  
  


_That was_ **not** _a good sign._

  
  


**“Frederick, what's the matter?”** the Snatcher inquired, his own smile soon shifting into a frown.

“Snatcher,” Frederick began to say, his tone full of anxiety, “I've noticed something rather _odd_ about- well, I think you had best come and see for yourself...”

Countless concerns filled the specter's mind as he followed Frederick over the chasm to the laboratory, and the inky ghost wondered what could _possibly_ have caused the scientist to become so _tense..._

* * *

“Anne? Joseph? It's me.”

  
  


After a few knocks on the cobbler's door, Zacharias watched the door open. Floating in the entrance was Joseph, his jade features clearly displaying surprise as he backed away to let the miller in.

Zacharias slowly entered the cobbler's shop, their figurative brow furrowed as they quickly noticed the golden-yellow form of Anne, sitting on her bed with her back to them.

  
  


_Oh, they had_ **messed up. _Big time._**

  
  


While Joseph closed the door, Zacharias gradually glided over, clasping their red-colored hands tightly together.

“Anne, I'm... _really_ sorry,” the miller apologized.

Anne didn't turn around.

They sighed. “I _shouldn't_ have said those things. I was tired and cranky, and I let that get to me.”

“What you said _hurt,”_ Anne muttered, sniffling slightly.

“I know... I didn't mean _any_ of what I said,” they told her. “I shouldn't have said _any_ of what I did.”

Much to their relief, Anne finally turned around, her tearful carnelian eyes filled with narrowed sadness.

“I'm not annoying, to you...?” she asked.

“No, you're not. You're actually very cool. I mean-"

Zacharias spun their hand in circles. "You've got _so much energy_ all of the time, and you're _always_ happy and excited about stuff. I _really_ admire your enthusiasm for pretty much _anything_ and everything. _I_ couldn't be so energetic all of the time! Having so much of that energy is just... _awesome,_ you know?”

Though she was still frowning and crying, the soberness in her eyes shifted slightly to a more hopeful look.

Managing a small smile, Zacharias held out their arms. “Hug?”

Her frown faded. She reached a hand up to wipe her eyes free of tears, before she _barreled_ right into Zacharias and wrapped her arms tightly around them. The miller let out a small “Oof!” as they found themselves in a tight hug, before they gently pat Anne's head.

Joseph floated over into the miller's field of view.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you, too, Joseph,” Zacharias soon said, turning their head to face the light-green ghost. “You were just worried, and I got angry at you. You didn't deserve that.”

They saw the relief flooding Joseph's face as he reached out and pat their shoulder.

“It's fine,” Joseph told them, his smile kind and understanding. “I'm just glad to see you more like yourself.”

He soon leaned on the miller's shoulder, his smile growing. “Besides, what kind of brother would I be if I _didn't_ forgive my sibling for snapping at me, when they gave such a _heartfelt_ apology?” he quickly quipped.

Anne soon pulled away from Zacharias, a wide smile on her face. “Yeah! Friends forgive each other!” she loudly said. "And older sisters forgive younger siblings for sometimes being mean!"

Zacharias slowly felt happiness _fill their being_ as they glanced between the other two ghosts. “Thanks, guys,” they quietly said, “You're the best-”

  
  


_Something gnawed at the edge of their mind. They felt an emptiness inside of them, demanding for something to_ **fill it.** _Like an instinct, yet a faint one; it was something that they hadn't felt in_ **years.** _It whispered one word to them as they sensed what they needed_ **close to them, _in the room-_**

  
  


**Horror _shot_ across Zacharias' face.**

  
  


The alarmed look in their eyes didn't go _unnoticed._

  
  


“Zacharias, are you all right?” Joseph asked, their figurative brow furrowing upwards.

“Whoa, you look scared!” Anne cried, her eyes _ginormous_ as she looked at the miller's face. “What's wrong?”

Just as quickly as the startled expression appeared on their face, it vanished as the miller gave the other two ghosts a sheepish smile.

“I _completely_ forgot that I was supposed to help Frederick in the tower!” Zacharias easily lied, bolting right out of the tree-stump home. “I'll see you guys later!”

Dumbstruck by what just happened, both Anne and Joseph blinked as the burst-open door flapped from the force that had struck it.

“Okay, see you later, Zacharias...” Joseph quietly bade farewell, _utterly baffled_ by what just occurred.

* * *

**“Run that by me, again; the spider souls are _what?”_**

_“Gone!_ At least, _some_ of them are!”

  
  


Inside of the tower laboratory, the Snatcher peered into the cabinet that contained the countless sealed flasks holding spider souls. Through his narrowed eyes, the specter noticed that some of the flasks in the back were now _missing the souls they used to contain,_ just like the scientist said.

  
  


**“This makes _no sense,”_** the maned ghost mumbled, shaking his head as he turned to Frederick. **“Where did they _go?”_**

Frederick tented his fingers, a deep- yet contemplative- frown on his face as he glanced at the shelves.“Well, I have a theory about that,” mentioned the scientist, "but I need to check something, first..."

He carefully pointed to the bottles at the back, drawing the Snatcher's gaze back to the flasks. “I organized the flasks from the oldest ones to the newest ones; which were placed farther back and closer to the front, respectively,” Frederick told the taller ghost. "Here, help me move the newer ones out of the way.”

The two ghosts carefully picked up the labeled flasks, setting them aside on a nearby table. After some time, they managed to reach the long line of empty flasks. Frederick carefully reached inside the cabinet and picked up the most-recent flask, examining the date on it.

“Hmm... I see...” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he rubbed his chin.

The royal ghost watched Frederick repeat this process with a few other flasks, before the scientist set them all back down in the order he had picked them up in.

“Just as I thought,” he mused, turning around to face the Snatcher. “All of these dates are from _forty years ago!”_

… One of the specter's yellow eyes grew smaller, as though he were squinting it in confusion. **“What's so special about that?”** he inquired.

“It may be possible- and I have no way to confirm this for a fact without seeing it myself, for the record- that the souls are vanishing by themselves _after_ forty years,” proposed Frederick. “I don't know _why,_ of course, but all of these dates are just a _little_ over forty years old!”

**“Wait-”** The ghostly prince held his hands up, palms-forward. **“- are you saying that after forty years, they're just _vanishing into thin air?”_**

“That _seems_ to be what's happening,” Frederick replied with a nod. “Of course, there's no way to know for certain, unless...”

His eyes widened as he floated back over to the table, quickly picking the flask that was closest to the empty ones. Upon reading the label, the scientist smiled and gently shook the flask, causing the spider soul inside to rattle around.

“I think I'll be staying up late, tonight,” he told the Snatcher. “Tomorrow, it will be exactly _forty years_ since we bottled this soul up. If I'm right, this soul will vanish, by then!”

The specter's concern was apparent. **“If they're vanishing, will that mean we'll have to deal with the possibility of _ghost spiders?”_** he was quick to ask.

Frederick frowned, glancing away as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “It's a definite possibility,” he pointed out, floating back to the cabinet to put the flask back inside. “But we should first determine if they actually _are_ disappearing!”

**“Would you like me to stay here for tonight?”** the Snatcher offered, snatching up a few of the flasks to help the scientist put them back.

“Oh, no need for that!” the red-colored ghost cried, waving a hand dismissively. “I have everything under control, here!”

He soon turned to the specter as the two put the last of the containers back on the shelf. **“Besides, you look rather _exhausted._ I think you could do with some sleep!”**

A small chuckle left the shadowy ghost, and he nodded in agreement as the scientist closed and locked the cabinet. **"You're right, of course,”** said the inky ghost. **“I _could_ do with some extra sleep..."**

Stretching his arms above his head, the Snatcher gave Frederick a kind smile. **“I'll trust you to keep an eye on things, here. In the meantime, I think I might head to bed early.”**

Frederick winked, saluting the specter. “Professor Frederick, at your service!” the scientist joked in a faux-serious tone.

A joyful laugh boomed from the specter as he made his way towards the door. **“Good Night, Frederick!”**

“Good Night, Snatcher!”

  
  


Once the forest's ruler had left the building, Frederick turned back to the locked cabinet.

“I wonder, though... how could these souls just _disappear...?”_

* * *

A few hours later, Zacharias emerged from their tree-stump home, their hands stained with ink. As silent as could be, they floated towards the large tree home and carefully peered inside.

The Snatcher sat in his armchair, his head lowered and eyes thin yellow lines- clear indicators that he was _deep in sleep._

Now assured of the inky ghost's deep slumber, the miller darted off towards the laboratory, moving noiselessly through the village as they avoided the current patrol assigned for that night. The moment they crossed the chasm, they reached for the door-

  
  


_Frederick was inside._

  
  


Zacharias _froze,_ their eyes wide as their hand trembled. Suddenly, they hit their head a few times, before shaking it hard, as though they were trying to shake away something _unpleasant._

  
  


_Keep it together!_

  
  


Taking a deep breath they no longer needed, they raised their hand and knocked on the door.

  
  


“Come in!” came Frederick's voice from beyond the door.

Though hesitant at first, Zacharias forced a relaxed, cheeky smile on their face as they pulled the door open and glided inside.

“Hey, Frederick!” greeted the miller, their tone filled with false cheer. “Didn't think you'd still be up!”

Frederick whirled around, a joyful smile on his face as he corked a new flask of blue potion. “Why, Zacharias!” the scientist cried, setting the potion aside on a nearby table. “It's a _pleasure_ to see you back!”

He paused, arching a figurative eyebrow inquisitively. “You're up rather late, yourself, aren't you?” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I couldn't sleep,” Zacharias lied, rubbing the back of their head as the glanced off to the right. “So I thought I'd spend some time making more potions; we're running low on those, aren't we?”

The scientist's eyebrow lowered as he smiled and nodded. “You're in luck; I was _just_ working on a new batch, myself!” he eagerly said.

He floated over to an empty flask and grabbed it, handing it off to Zacharias. “With you around, this task will go by _much_ more quickly!” Frederick beamed with pride at the miller, patting their shoulder gently.

Zacharias somehow kept a smile plastered on their face as the scientist turned back around. “I'll have a _few hundred_ done by the end of tonight!” they laughed, their smile fading as they turned their back to him and grabbed a few ingredients.

“That's the spirit!” Frederick cheered, already stirring an almost-finished concoction of the explosive brew. “If I may say, I'm glad there's someone else here with me, tonight.”

“Really?” Zacharias asked, carefully placing the flask and a base on a burner. They carefully grabbed some of the ingredients and started dropping them into the slowly-heating flask. "Why's that?"

“Well, I was cleaning the place up a bit," Frederick started to say, "and I noticed that some of the spider souls in the cabinet are _missing!”_

  
  


The miller's hand stopped, holding the next ingredient up above the flask.

  
  


_“Seriously?”_ they asked, their face darkening considerably.

“Yes, but I think I've figured out why! I think- after being locked up in a cabinet for forty years- the souls are _vanishing by themselves!”_

A silent sigh escaped Zacharias. Their shoulders relaxed as they released the next ingredient, watching it drop into the concoction.

“That's _crazy!”_ the miller exclaimed, easily faking surprise. “So you're thinking more will disappear, soon?”

“Exactly! In fact, one of the souls should disappear tomorrow, given the date on their flask.”

Frederick glanced over at Zacharias, giving them a huge smile. “I'm going to stay up to keep an eye on it, just to be certain,” he told them.

  
  


Zacharias _froze,_ their back still to the scientist.

  
  


“Would you like to stay up with me?" offered the scientist. "I could use an extra helping hand, around here!”

  
  


Forcing another smile, the miller turned their head and crinkled their eyes.

“Sure! It'll be neat to see if the soul vanishes or not!” Zacharias exclaimed, holding back the fearful annoyance in their tone.

_“Wonderful!”_ cried Frederick, turning back to the potion he was stirring. “Hopefully we'll be able to get to the bottom of this mystery rather quickly!”

“Heh, yeah...”

Trailing off, the miller's forced smile disappeared the moment they turned their head away from Frederick. Their wisteria eyes opened, narrowing considerably as they focused on the bubbling potion.

“While we're here, we can tend to some of the-”

Bursting liquid cut Frederick off as the potion suddenly erupted, _blasting_ the startled scientist _directly in the face!_

Zacharias whipped their head up just in time to see the blue geyser subside, leaving poor Frederick _drenched_ in the failed potion.

“Well, there goes another one,” the potion-covered ghost chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “Zacharias, would you mind handing me a towel?”

A laugh escaped Zacharias. “Sure thing, Professor!”

The miller floated over to a towel on a table, pulling it off of a shovel it was laying on.

  
  


_A dark thought popped into Zacharias' mind;_ **an urge that wouldn't leave a _perfect opportunity_ be.**

  
  


“Heh, guess even _you_ still mess up with those potions, don't you?” the miller calmly remarked, tentatively lifting the shovel up from the table.

“Even experts can make a mistake, once in a while!” Another chuckle left the scientist as he continued rubbing at his eyes, unaware of Zacharias approaching from behind.

  
  


The shovel shook in their hand as they stopped _right behind him._

Their ghostly face _contorted_ as they gritted their nonexistent teeth.

  
  


_They_ **had** _to do this._

**They _couldn't_ do this!**

**_Could they?_ **

  
  


A sigh escaped the scientist as he leaned back, blinking a couple of times. “After all, _everyone_ makes mistakes,” he cheerily stated.

  
  


Zacharias gripped the shovel with both hands, and _screwed their eyes shut._

  
  


“Yeah, they do, Professor.”

  
  


Frederick let out a yelp as metal **collided** with the back of his head. The shovel head _vibrated_ from the impact as the scientist groaned, slumped over, and fell onto the ground.

  
  


The makeshift weapon slipped from the miller's grasp, clanging as it landed on the stone floor.


End file.
